The Eternal Wish

by ChestOfStories

Yennefer asks Geralt to help her find a djinn on an old broken ship on Skellige Isles. After all these years, she wishes to finally know for sure whether their love was real. Meanwhile, The Wild Hunt is hot on Ciri's trail, and their world is in danger. Based on books and games lore with our additions. Feedback HIGHLY appreciated.

91. Chapter 91

The servants had gently illuminated Ciri's suite with several candles by the time she returned to the castle that evening. She lingered a few minutes in front of the lit fireplace, replacing all the warmth she'd lost earlier that day in Skellige, while unfurling the note Philippa had sent her.

It greatly lacked any details and was the main reason Ciri felt reluctant to comply with the sorceress's requests. That, and the fact that every other conversation the two had shared always ended up turning into arguments and threats.

But the idea of Philippa and her loyal minions having something to do with Geralt's mysterious disappearance made declining the invitation impossible. If there was even the smallest chance she knew something...

Ciri pushed a chair up under the doorknob to keep it locked from the inside. She did not want anyone to know where she had gone, and more specifically, why. She didn't want to get anyone's hopes up if this was no more than one of Philippa's ploys for attention.

Ciri had only visited Montecalvo once before in her life; several years ago with Yennefer, when The Lodge had summoned them and revealed their intention to make Ciri marry prince Tankred of Kovir.

The castle hadn't changed much from what Ciri could see, but she supposed it was only a matter of time unless Philippa managed to claw her way back into a position of true power.

A young and pretty servant girl met Ciri in the entrance hall and quickly led her up several sets of stairs. They'd apparently been expecting her.

Philippa met her in the old summit hall Ciri remembered. The sorceress was alone and didn't seem surprised to see her, a faint humorless smile tugging at her mouth.

"Cirilla," she said. "You did the right thing to come here. No one else can help you, even if they pretend to try."

"And what sort of help are you offering to sell me, Philippa?" Ciri asked coldly.

Philippa's smile turned into one of sardonic knowing. "You need all the help you can get. Your father the Emperor wants the same he had before. Are you ready to become his pawn? That's the price for his favors."

"We're here to talk of my father?" Ciri was notably disappointed. "I thought you had something of actual importance to say."

"Of course I do," Philippa was oozing cold confidence. "As I had before. The only way to the freedom you crave lies through us, Cirilla. Through The Lodge. We are the only people in the whole world capable of helping you win and keep your life under your own control. I hope you grew up enough to understand it now."

Ciri eyed the sorceress for a long moment, unimpressed. In the end, she sighed and turned for the door. "I don't have time for this."

"How much time do you have for all the empty promises they feed you at Emhyr's court while nothing's being done to aid your search? Do you truly believe they wish to find Geralt? So he takes you away from Emhyr again?" She laughed; it was a cold, desolate sound.

Ciri paused, slowly turning her head to glare at Philippa over her shoulder. "I never wait for aid. I know if Kain and I cannot find Geralt, they don't stand a chance. Doesn't mean I am going to dissuade them from searching."

Arms crossed over her chest, Ciri leaned back against the wall. "Is that why you did nothing to aid our search either? You think if Yennefer and Geralt are out of my life I will come crawling to you?"

"Oh, that's rich," Philippa chuckled softly. "Your assumption could be insulting if I didn't know how little you understand the game of power. You will come crawling to me, child, but for the opposite reason.

"I shan't deny, both your Witch and your Witcher inspire no warm feelings in me. But if they are the price to pay for your growing up, I shall pay it gladly. Without my help, you will lose Geralt, and it won't be a full moon before you lose your boy as well."

"What do you know?" Ciri all but whispered, her insides suddenly cold with dread.

Philippa regarded her with the same ghost of a smile, cold and confident. "What I know is what I can offer. What is your price?"

"The price for what? I need to know what I am purchasing." Ciri pushed away from the wall and approached her. "Do you know where he is?"

"Your purchase is your family intact and safe. As well as your own life lived mostly the way you always wanted. In return I want what I always wanted - our Lodge as strong as ever with its own kingdom no one would take from us - so we can save ourselves and those like us, as well as preserve our North. You give it to me, and we will save your witchers - yes, both of them."

"Are you threatening Kain?" Ciri's eyes burned with sudden fury. As far as she knew, Kain was not in danger. She had left him behind at the stables in Vizima less than an hour earlier. Safe and sound.

"It's not I who threatens him, it's you," Philippa said with a wry sneer. "Your stubborn resistance. I'm merely warning you about things you will lose if you don't act now. I'm offering my aid, Cirilla. Don't be foolish, child. Let's join our forces and help each other before it's too late."

Ciri exhaled a puff of air like an angry bull. "This is why you brought me here? Under the pretenses of knowing something about Geralt's whereabouts, only to threaten me and my loved ones unless I give you everything your cold, shriveled heart desires?"

She shook her head, her skin suddenly feeling unbearably hot, as though Ciri herself was about to burst into flames.

"You are incorrigible! I am not one of your fawning sorceresses tied to your side by a tight leash. Threats and unkindness will never open the gate to my cooperation."

Ciri closed the distance between her and Philippa, glaring into the other woman's eerie eyes. "If any harm comes to Kain, I am holding you personally responsible." She spread her arms to indicate the castle in which they stood. "And I will burn your pathetic kingdom down."

Still enraged and filled to the brim with disappointment that made her eyes tear up, Ciri turned and strode for the door one final time.

"Remember, Cirilla, I warned you," Philippa called after her, looking unperturbed by the girl's outburst. "When you lose another one, you'll come back. And we'll talk then. When you grow up and learn your place."

Gods, how Ciri loathed that woman. Actual loathing! Such a power-hungry, vicious, and calculating wench willing to harm anyone as long as she got her way.

Ciri had come to expect such qualities in the men of politics. But a woman treating another woman with such casual cruelty? Attempting to control her? Philippa should know better. She surely had to know what it felt like to be nothing but a young girl in a man's world. Why would she be happy to keep the cycle of oppression and pain going instead of breaking it? Not just for her sorceresses, but all women.

Back in her room in Vizima, Ciri snatched a glass figurine off the fireplace mantle and hurled it at the wall. It felt amazing and yet she regretted it the moment it smashed and sharp, translucent pieces scattered across the floor.

Breathing a sigh, she brushed some loose strands of hair from her face and slowly lowered to her knees to tidy up.

The traitorous shards cut into her fingertips more than once, but that was not the reason Ciri cried softly.

She was scared. Truly scared. The very same emotion she had experienced in Tir ná Lia when she knew her friends and family were dying, and there was nothing she could do to prevent it.

It felt like that again.

She missed Geralt. Missed having him tell her how to proceed and the best course to take. And she missed arguing with him over that exact topic like any daughter would. He always made her feel safe.

And she missed Yennefer. The real Yennefer. The one who wanted Ciri with her. Who desired her almost as much as she had once desired a child of her own. The sorceress residing in Yennefer's quarters was almost unrecognizable.

And then there was Kain. Philippa's threats continued to haunt Ciri.

Did Eilhart truly know something nefarious was about to happen? And was Ciri going to be the cause? Was she going to harm Kain?

Questions that continued to flutter around in Ciri's mind even as she got into bed for the night, tumbling her into a restless sleep and disturbing nightmares.

---

Kain knelt at a babbling spring and carefully dipped his hand in its cold water. The stinging intensified, making him wince gnashing his teeth. Despite the angry and rather deep burn, he couldn't fault the wizard for his smart approach. Istredd seemed to be a very insightful man to be expecting someone snooping around his quarters.

Even though his thief trap had burnt Kain's hand almost to the bone, the Cat witcher felt only respect for the wizard's precautions. On his desk buried under various tomes and notebooks and scrolls had lain a perfection of a copy - a masterful illusion that had tricked Kain's eyes, if not his other senses. The box with the real thing, however, had been protected by a very powerful scorch spell. Kain had noticed the gleaming of magic, but there was no way to dispel it or avoid the penalty. The best Kain could do was to not make a sound or let any blood drops fall anywhere on the premises.

Hissing softly, Kain closed his eyes to focus on the healing. After a short while, the stinging began to fade. Little by little his hand came back to life, the red burns paled and skinned over. He pulled his hand from the water and examined it, brushing the fingertips of another one over the wet new skin that showed no evidence of what had happened less than fifteen minutes ago. Only a vague tingling sensation reminded him of the former pain.

He settled under a tree, resting a bit, watching Onyx graze a few yards away. He fished the medallion from his pocket and studied it in the twilight. He brushed his thumb over Lara's profile and her flowing hair; the stone was cold under his touch.

His mind flashed back to smearing his blood over it before handing it over to Yennefer. Kain frowned in wonder, searching for any trace of it on the stone surface and finding none. He turned it over and saw a tiny speck of blood that must have gotten on it when Kain plucked it from the enchanted box in Istredd's quarters. Kain tried to rub it and then scratch it with his fingernail but to no avail. The spot seemed to be soaked into the surface as if it were porous.

Then how did his blood from before disappear? Did it evaporate? Had Yennefer done something to remove it?

The question felt important but not as much as what actually happened to Yennefer.

Kain settled more comfortably, closed his eyes and concentrated on the anchor pendant, holding it between his palms.

"He was there," Kain told Fealinn an hour later after Fringilla had kindly sent him back to Novigrad for the night. "He took her out and dropped her like dead weight out in the cold of Undvik."

"He probably knew the druids would find her soon enough," Fealinn reasoned, sipping her tea.

"It doesn't really excuse such an act from the human perspective."

"He's not human. He's an Aen Saevherne."

"Aen Heartless, you mean."

Fealinn shrugged.

"And Ciri has no idea."

She regarded him. "You didn't tell her?"

"Oh, I wanted to. So bad I nearly went to her quarters, but then stopped myself. She doesn't have to know now and lose her sleep over his betrayals. She still needs him, perhaps. And maybe I'm... well, wrong in some way. I don't know exactly what's going on in his head. I can only sense his thoughts and moods, but none of it is precise. He might even be deliberately fooling me."

"Think he's manipulating your perception?"

Kain thought about it, savoring his swallow of the tea. "More like his mind works differently from ours and is harder to decipher."

A faint smile touched her mouth. "Are you attempting to justify his choices for Ciri's sake?"

"No. But at the same time, I wish I could find something genuine in him. For her sake."

"You chose well not to tell her yet," she said. "Ciri needs less pain right now to deal with her challenges."

"I just hope he won't harm her through her own trust until she sees through his deceits."

"So, he was in the Tower with you," Fealinn mused. "That explains the flashbacks."

"True," he nodded pensively. "We saw Yennefer who's been inside as well. We also saw Geralt who wasn't. If he wasn't... And Caranthir."

"All those have been parts of visions with Avallac'h," Fealinn reminded. "And all towards the end of your stay. Time works strangely in there, indeed."

She refilled her mug and offered him a second helping of the pie.

"You can take Griffin to Brokilon as soon as you want," she said. "They will accept him under their protection - if he stays, that is."

"I'll do my best to entice him to stay. Thank you." He smiled.

"As for your new request, I'll let you know tomorrow. If it's a yes, you'll have to get it in Tretogor."

"You're the best."

She beamed, "It's nothing, really."

---

After discussing Ciri with Kain, Yennefer found herself waging a war with desperation and pride. Desperation to fix her daughter and hurt pride in feeling like a failure for not having done so sooner.

She talked to Istredd extensively, airing her fears again. Like Kain, he assured her that even though he didn't know the girl, he had to believe that she wasn't capable of such viciousness. Why would anyone Yennefer loved that much be that savage? He even went so far as to ask her why she believed it to be true.

Not wanting to explain her own shortfalls and insecurities again, Yennefer became annoyed, said she needed space, and stormed off for the library.

There she spent two hours going through anything and everything they had on elven magic and the towers. Anything she could find. There wasn't much.

When she grew tired and the air stifling, she made her way outside, taking a stroll through the gardens until eventually, she ended up at the stables. She hadn't intended to ride but the urge to leave the castle had become so strong that before she even knew what she was doing she was instructing a stable hand to ready a horse while she waited outside.

But when she turned to the sound of hooves clattering against the pavement, it wasn't the stable hand.

"Lady Yennefer," Morvran greeted with a boyish smile blooming on his face. He approached her with his horse in tow. "What a pleasant surprise to find you outside enjoying the weather." He glanced up at the sunny sky with rare clouds, squinting against the light. "Such a nice day for a ride, isn't it?"

Yennefer tensed, startled. She hadn't expected to run into anyone, nor wanted to. "It is. Are you on your way out?"

"Yes." He peered at her curiously. "Care to join me?"

"Actually yes," she answered after a beat. She smiled and thanked the stable hand as he brought her a bay mare, then easily pulled herself into the saddle, her heels gently tap-tapping at the mare's flanks to get the horse moving. "I trust you'll keep up, General."

Another motion and the mare dipped into a trot, followed by canter for the gates.

"Easy, Lady Sorceress," Morvran called after her, following in a languid trot. "Hold your fire."

They crosses the Royal Quarters, then the markets, and once the Vizima bridge was behind them. Both bolted along the road and then into the woods, skirting around the trees.

Yennefer had never seen herself as the best rider, but like with everything she did, she had confidence. She weaved through the trees, jumped over more than one root, fallen trunk, and stone that jutted from the ground.

The ride seemed to go on forever and for a time her troubles appeared to drift into the background. Until reality kicked in.

A branch snuck from out of nowhere, snagging her shoulder, sending her into a state of panic so acute that the power leaped from her hand without control. The flash and her own fear startled her horse. The mare reared up neighing, sending her flying into the dirt. Yennefer hit the ground with a grunt, and her vision darkened dangerously; her hands had barely had time to brace her impact.

Morvran's stallion reared up when stopped abruptly, and within an instant Morvran's worried face appeared in Yennefer's blurry view, slowly gaining focus.

"Yennefer, you hear me? No, try not to move yet. Just tell me what hurts?"

She studied the bright red blood coming out on the scratched heel of her hand. Despite the pair of blue eyes searching hers with concern, she found it hard to meet them, to calm her nerves as her own gaze flitted left and right in search of angry green ones.

When Ciri didn't step out from amongst the trees to finish the job and Yennefer's heart had stopped beating in her ears, she'd begun to relax a little, welcoming the pain as a reminder of her sanity. She was also beginning to feel uncharacteristically embarrassed.

"I'm well, M'Lord. Nothing I can't fix with a poultice or some mead."

"You've scratched your hand," he said, pressing a handkerchief to it. "It's not too bad." Which was very lucky, considering her flight. He was happy she didn't break her neck or skull.

Gently, he helped her sit up, then stilled her, giving her time to recover her senses.

"How do you feel?" he asked. "Can you feel any strong pain anywhere?"

Yennefer politely brushed his hand aside, taking over the handkerchief on her wound. "Inept," she answered, her cheeks aglow. "I don't believe I've broken any bones."

On her knees and left thigh were dark smudges, evidence of her fall. Her ribs ached, too, but after everything she'd endured, the pain was tolerable and not even worth mentioning.

She forced a light laugh. "My pride is the only part fatally injured."

Morvran carefully helped her up and brushed the dust off her skirt. "Luckily for us, your hurt pride won't kill you. I would never forgive myself for letting you ride so fast before you were ready."

"Won't it?" she asked, holding the handkerchief to her hand. "I should be the one to make an apology. You came out here for a peaceful ride and I gave you a scare."

"No apology needed," he smiled and turned to look around. His horse was grazing a few yards away; a bit further stood Yennefer's mare, ears pricked up. Morvran whistled, and both horses approached.

He regarded her, gauging. "You certain nothing hurts?"

Everything hurt. Her pride, her ribs, she was pretty sure she had strained a finger, and the scratches on her hand stung as well. "No, I'm fine. Like I said, nothing a little poultice won't fix right up." She lifted the cloth from her palm, checking, grateful it had stopped bleeding. "Besides, I don't want the Emperor thinking I'm trying to take advantage of his hospitality by prolonging my stay longer than is necessary."

"Nonsense. You're welcome to stay for as long as you need," Morvran assured, giving her the reins of her mare. "Both Emperor and I were hoping you enjoyed your time at the castle. Either for the library, or peace, or... for something else."

She wished her visit had been under different circumstances, then maybe she would have derived pleasure from it. Yennefer wanted only to run now. She tightened the handkerchief around her injured hand to keep it clear of dirt and took the offered reins with the other, stroking the horse's long neck in apology. "Something else? Something else for the Emperor or for me? As you both know, it was never in my plans to return here. At least not that soon."

"Plans change and quite often," Morvran mused, eyeing her with a wily glint in his eye. "There's no shame in breaking one's intentions when circumstances call for it. You needed help and we were happy to provide it. We dare believe you deem us your allies, for we have in common someone very dear to both our sides."

Laughter bubbled to the surface unwittingly, a gentle sound that felt foreign and like something she shouldn't have been doing.

And then, it was gone.

A wisp, something that hadn't been there at all, hollowing her out again. "Has Ciri met with the Emperor yet? What does he expect from her in return for helping me?"

"Of course there's nothing he expects! We were helping you because of our friendly intentions, not because of your association with Princess Cirilla." He watched her with keen eyes, hiding gauging behind a smile. "You don't have to worry about either of them. Their relationship is for them alone to mend if they can and wish so."

Yennefer wasn't so sure she believed the Emperor's motivations were so altruistic, but she wasn't going to argue. The fact was that they had helped her, and if it wasn't for them, she even might have died. "I wish it was that easy," she murmured and met his gaze again. "Have you spoken to Ciri?"

"Shortly, yes. She wished to thank us for our help and ask what's being done for Geralt."

"What is being done for Geralt? Anything?"

His smile dimmed in a show of sincere compassion for her worries. "We are searching relentlessly around the Tower since our troop was dispatched there. Our mages search for clues and traces at all times. I trusted Fringilla or Lady Merigold had told you about it."

"No, they haven't updated me on what is being done for Geralt. They think me frail and are trying to protect me, I assume."

"And do you think yourself frail?" Morvran asked with a jocular air. "Or you merely trust their assessment of that matter?"

"I only trust myself," she answered. She and Triss might have been close, but Triss's loyalty fluctuated where Geralt or the Lodge were concerned. "For curiosity's sake, do you think me frail?"

"You are many things, Lady Yennefer. You can be storm and fire or even a lackadaisical breeze. But frail you could never be."

He narrowed his eyes, studying her for a moment.

"If I may suggest something," she mused, squinting wistfully. "Some of our soldiers after partaking in the vicious battles experience certain drawbacks where the memories of what they've been through haunt them after the battle is over and even in the safety of their homes and amidst their families. I feel your experience might be akin to such. Our mages aid those soldiers so they let go of the pain connected to those memories. If you feel you could use such aid, we can provide it."

Yennefer recoiled at the thought of her deepest fears revealed to one of the Emperor's mages. That wasn't going to happen.

She released the reins of her mare, needing the moment to take back her control, to wash away the weakness that clawed at her insides and once again scarred her body.

"As appreciative I am of your offer, M'Lord, I have other methods to clear my head."

Before Morvran could react, she was upon him, her lips crushed to his mouth in a motion that could only be described as aggressive.

He let go of his horse and enclosed her in his arms, pulling his gloves off hastily and dropping them before planting his palms upon her behind, reciprocating her demanding kiss. They shifted across the forest floor, barely aware of their surroundings until Morvran's back hit a tree trunk. Their hands roamed, seeking hooks and laces on each other's clothes, undoing them urgently, their breaths catching and panting between their hungry kisses.

Morvran swung her around, lifting her off the ground and pinning her back against the tree as her legs locked around his hips.

Yennefer hailed the ridges of the trunk against her back and the warmth between her legs, grinding against Morvran and with him once she freed him of the confines of his pants. He wasn't clumsy in his movements or hesitant, brandishing himself upon her skin, making her world dissolve into a gale of moans and obnoxious prayer, racing for their release.

When their fervor began to cool down, they took a moment to catch their breath, panting against each other's necks.

Yennefer untangled herself from him, pulling her clothes back into place, tightening the laces on her corset, and doing away with any suggestions that they had gone for more than a ride.

A horseback ride.

Morvran picked up his gloves, slapping the dust out of them, and called the horses. He held out the mare's reins to Yennefer with a smile of a cat that ate the cream.

"Let me help you up, M'Lady."

A smile graced her features, replicating his mischief. He surely was a charming devil.

She reclaimed the reins, doing one final inspection of her clothing, determined to blame anything out of place on her fall. If it was to come up. The only one that would ask would be Istredd. But that was only if he'd catch her before she managed to clean up.

"You're ever so generous, M'Lord," she quipped, turning her back to him to suggest that he was free to help her. Her legs were still jelly weak.

"I know it goes without saying, but I trust I can count on your discretion with regard to this incident."

He helped her into her saddle and flashed her an enchanting smile. "My memories of you have always been and always will be too exquisite to leave the privacy of my mind."

He mounted with a fluid habitual motion and leveled his stallion's flank with her mare's.

"Can I, in my turn, hope for your discretion concerning what I wish to share with you confidentially?"

She tightened her hold on the reins and nodded, guiding her horse into a slow walk back towards Vizima, making sure to keep pace with him. "Of course. Discretion is and always will be what you and I share."

"Then let us talk about the Lodge and your former friends Lady Findabair and Lady Eilhart."

---

Ciri ran her hand down Kelpie's black sleek neck, the sunlight reflecting off her fur, infusing the mare with warmth.

Ciri had barely slept the night before, her mind still riddled with her conversation with Philippa. The threats clung to Ciri's back like a knife ready to plunge into flesh. She was merely waiting for the all-encompassing agony to set in. Almost wishing it would be sooner rather than later, just to get it over with.

She hoped a ride through the forest would ease her tormented mind, though she doubted something as simple would be enough.

What did distract her for a moment, however, was the sight of Yennefer and Morvran returning to the stable, the raven-haired sorceress looking a lot more relaxed than when Ciri had seen her last.

Ciri smiled and looked up at them both, squinting against the sun. "Good morning."

"Good morning, Princess," Morvran greeted with a polite bow. "Great weather for a ride."

"Indeed," Ciri replied before casually turning her attention to the sorceress. "Are you feeling better, Yennefer? You look well."

Should she tell her of the conversation with Philippa? Yennefer knew her far better than Ciri did, and could quite possibly ease her mind if Philippa was prone to lies such as these.

And yet... Morvran was here. And though he seemed nice enough, Ciri wasn't certain he'd fully earned her trust yet.

"Do I?" Yennefer asked rhetorically, glancing down at herself, needing any excuse to break eye contact with her daughter. Kain's assurances had started to circle inside her head from the moment she saw the girl by the stables, and yet it was unable to sink in. "Then I can only presume my outing has been a success."

She forced a small smile onto her lips, gently tapping her horse's flanks to keep it moving, grateful when two stable hands emerged to help both Morvran and her with their horses. Yennefer was quick to relinquish ownership, being careful to tuck her hurt hand close to her body, trying to hide the injury.

"Are you on your way out as well? Following a lead perhaps?"

"No lead," Ciri replied, trailing Yennefer with her gaze. "Kain and I searched all of yesterday, but we found naught. I just need to spend some time with Kelpie. Clear my mind.

"Or," she pressed, testing. "If you'd like, I can postpone and we can have some tea. You and I?"

Morvran slipped off his horse, watching the women furtively from the corner of his eye, pulling his gloves off while a stable hand led the stallion away.

The idea of being alone with Ciri made Yennefer's skin crawl.

"I thank you for the offer, sweet child, but I think I overexerted myself with my ride. I need to go rest." As good an excuse as any.

She continued to smile, her attention shifting to the general beside them.

"Thank you for accompanying me on my trail, M'Lord," she offered him an informal curtsy out of politeness before beginning to walk away.

Morvran gave a bow in return, "The pleasure is all mine, Lady Yennefer."

Ciri stared at Yennefer's retreating back, biting the insides of her cheeks to keep from calling out to her, to confronting her right then and there where everyone could witness.

She forced herself to turn away and fiddle with Kelpie's saddle, eventually hoisting herself onto the mare's back.

"General." She offered Morvran a polite, if not slightly stiff, nod and urged Kelpie to move.

"Have a safe ride, Princess," Morvran responded. "Try not to get in trouble."

He watched her trot for the gate, then turned to go towards the castle.

He briefly stilled in the doorway of his quarters when he saw Fringilla Vigo sitting quietly in one of the chairs at the tea table, sipping red wine. His face lit up with an immediate smile.

"This day keeps bringing pleasant surprises," he said, dropping his riding gloves on a cupboard and running a hand through his hair to check for any possible pieces of bark stuck there during his earlier escapade.

"One would expect you to be more careful than that," Fringilla said, worrying the wine in her glass with subtle motions of her hand. "If you don't quit your silly game with Yennefer, you will spoil things."

"What I do with Yennefer can scarcely be called spoiling things," he countered with a wily smirk, shrugging off his dusty doublet.

"Do you remember telling me you wanted my help? Because I do. If you do as well - don't spoil things. Yennefer brings trouble to everyone she touches. Leave that jinx to Witcher. Or her wizard friend."

"There was a time you wished to pin your own jinx to that witcher." Morvran approached the tea table, eyeballing her with a sharp, entertained gaze as he picked up a glass and poured himself some water from the carafe. "What is he to you now?"

"He deems me a friend," she uttered. "What is she to you?"

"Who?"

"Yennefer."

"Fascinating," he said, cracking an impish grin.

Fringilla clicked her tongue, savoring another sip of Tufo, her eyes narrowing subtly at him. "What about me?"

"You have my trust."

She hemmed in acknowledgment and finished her drink, then set the glass on the table, getting up. "Better be worth it."

"The biggest worth there is with me," he murmured as she stood before him.

Her emerald eyes bore into his while she seemed to ponder. When his face inched closer to hers, she put a firm palm against his chest, pushing him back lightly.

"She's all over you."

Stepping around him, she sauntered for the door. "I'll pass your request for a bath, General."

He sighed and finished his water, then picked up the glass she had left behind, and raised it to study the trace of lipstick on the brim. A slow smile claimed his mouth.

---

Ciri's journey through the forest was nowhere near as peaceful as intended. Instead, she rode hard and fast, pushing Kelpie to her limits.

Or rather, Kelpie pushed herself. The mare always knew what Ciri needed and how to give it to her.

Ciri relished in her hair coming undone and flowing behind her like a magnificent cape. The scent of pine in the depth of the forest. The little scratches to her cheeks and hands as twigs and shrubs caught her bare skin. Kelpie's strong heart pounding beneath her.

Sensations instead of thoughts. Ciri had always preferred that. The physical.

Before she knew it, the thicket of trees turned to an open road. Pine needles and roots were replaced with dirt and sand.

She was on the road to Novigrad and did not turn back.

When sweat had started gathering in Kelpie's pelt, Ciri slowed and made use of her own powers of teleportation.

Rosemary and Thyme soon stood before her.

With Kelpie taking a well-deserved rest in the stables, Ciri made her way inside in search of Kain.

"Ciri! Dear lassie," Zoltan greeted, cracking a happy grin, his pipe pinched between his teeth. He was at the closest table with the accounting book, an inkwell with a quill in it sat next to his mug of ale. "How ye feelin today? How's Yennefer?"

"All is well," Ciri lied effortlessly, amazed that she was able to do so. Physically, both she and Yennefer were fine, it seemed. And that was what mattered most, Ciri convinced herself. Even as she barely held back from scanning the other tables for signs of Kain and his reassurance.

"Business picking up?" she asked casually, regretting it a moment later. The place was fairly empty.

"Not as busy as we'd want to, lassie," Zoltan sighed, dragging on his smoke. "But we're tryin. Now the Black Ones are here and folk seems to have relaxed a tad. As if that ill dozen can save their asses." He chortled. "Our open nights picked up, however. Dandelion's dozin after our last one."

She nodded. "One day things will be back to normal for you. It will be good again. I promise." She rubbed Zoltan's shoulder and gave a small smile. "Is Kain around?"

"Aye, he was," Zoltan dragged on his pipe, thinking. "He went someplace after breakfast... Mayhaps swimmin near the woods."

"Of course he did. Little forest elf," Ciri snorted affectionately. "I need to go see him. If he comes by, tell him I'm looking for him."

She headed back for the exit.

"I'm sure ye find him faster than he goes anywhere," Zoltan chuckled, returning to his book.

He was correct.

Ciri found Kain outside the city walls, on the edge of the forest, submerged in the river. She didn't call out to him immediately, allowing herself a few moments of quiet observation as he swam, noticing how the muscles of his back rippled under the sun.

Quite the sight.

He turned onto his back, swiping his hair from his face, and stood, water up to his chest, flashing a smile at Ciri.

"Want to join me? Or do your royal baths have to be warmer?"

Ciri did want to join him, but it was hardly the best day for it considering the time of the month. She sat down on the riverbank to watch him instead. "You know me, nothing but absolute luxury will do."

She plucked a few blades of grass from the ground, toying with them. "Yennefer is still avoiding me."

A ripple of concern went through his features as he approached her, squeezing water from his hair. "How so? Is she unwell?"

Ciri shrugged. "Well enough to go riding with Morvran. Not well enough to spend any time with me when asked."

Kain picked up his trousers and began to dress. "What did she say?"

"Said she needed to rest. Walked away before I could have an actual conversation with her."

Kain put on his jerkin and settled on the grass next to her. "What she saw in her vision scared her too much," he explained. "No one knows what she saw, but it was connected to you."

"My past," Ciri murmured. "She must have seen the things I've done." She threw a handful of loose grass to the ground and pulled at some more. "Who told you about her visions? Triss?"

"No."

Kain heaved a sigh. There could be no good in telling her, but if he didn't, it might be even worse.

He turned to meet her eyes. "Morvran told me. Yennefer couldn't wake up on her own and her vision was killing her. They brought an oneiromancer, and it didn't end well."

He told her about the ritual gone awry and what happened after.

"I… I don't understand what she could have seen about me that would have ignited such a reaction." Ciri expected Yennefer would feel shame and disgust. Perhaps even guilt concerning Ciri's past. But not some strange urge to inflict violence upon herself.

"They concluded she saw something bad happen to you," he said. "Whatever it was, the Tower's magic made it feel so real she can't shake it now. We saw things that were important to us. She saw something that could break her spirit. And I don't believe it's anything from your past. It's something to do with Yennefer herself, her own fears, her own past and insecurities attacked her."

Ciri shook her head. "Why would that make her avoid me? It is not as though she has not realized I am in danger before. She's had years of not knowing whether I was dead or alive."

She paused, her eyebrows pinched in concern. "Do you think that is what she preferred? To have me out of reach so she could pretend I was alright?"

Kain sighed, shaking his head slowly. "No, she'd never want you to be away. She believes she can protect you - she always believed it, as well as Geralt. What happened in Tor Zireael is not about you. It's about her, Ciri. About her deepest fears."

"But what is it? What are those fears that make her push me away?"

"What can she fear about you? Same things Geralt fears. Same thing I fear. That we failed to protect you, to help you protect yourself and avoid harm."

Ciri exhaled, frustrated. "I can't do anything about that. I can't fix that for her. So… am I simply to never see her again? Indulge this fear of hers?"

"Of course not. She needs your help. But perhaps we need to see that woman in Ellander, or at least talk to Mother Nenneke."

"I thought you said they erased her memory? What will she be able to tell us?" Ciri asked, brushing a lone ant off her trouser leg.

He looked at her with a small sneer. "I don't know what I can find out or not before I actually meet her. Do you?"

"No," she admitted, a little annoyed. Why was all this happening now when they needed to team up and find Geralt?

She offered Kain her hand. "Shall we, then? No better time than the present."

---

The vast premises of the Temple of Melitele in Ellander was a picture of peace and heaven. The gardens were full of late bloom and ripe fruit, birds chirping on their branches; the trees whispered subtly in the light wind; the sparkling pond framed with lilies and filled with playful fish freshly fed and a curious cat sitting on the bank watching them in rapt attention; the priestesses strolling the tidy paths among the flowerbeds, tending to fruit trees with baskets under their arms. The harvest time was upon the land, even though the whimsical weather chose to favor the North this year with a long and smooth transition from warmth to chillier days nearing winter. The youth of harvest season had come, but many a Nordling still called it late summer.

Even in that idyllic setting Kain and Ciri hadn't even reached the stables before two priestesses approached, surveying them with keen, inquiring gazes.

"Greetings, travelers," the older one said, and they both bowed, eliciting a responding gesture from the visitors. "What brings you to our Temple? Do you require aid or wish to praise our Great Mother?"

Ciri stared, always finding these interactions highly awkward. "No praise today. Or… um, I mean… we need to see Mother Nenneke. Is she in her study?" She pointed in the general direction of that location and started that way.

"We ask you to wait at the Temple," the priestess said, stopping Ciri gently by the elbow. "How should we name you for Mother Nenneke?"

"Tell her Ciri came to visit," Kain said. "We'll wait at the Temple."

The priestesses bowed and hurried away while Kain pulled Ciri towards the Temple's wide doors. They were open, letting in more sunlight and fragrant air; their footfalls echoed under the ceiling. A huge statue of Great Mother stood at the altar, illuminated by the smartly made skylights and dozens of candles burning at her feet. Her arms were open in a silent invitation for a motherly embrace, her face wearing a warm smile. As warm as a stone was able to display.

"All these rituals and closed doors," Ciri murmured, gazing at the statue. "All our friends in high places should have a way we can reach them directly, don't you think? I hate all this waiting."

"She's busy," Kain said, smearing a melted wax drop off the candle's side before it hardened. "Too many tasks and people to control, too much to oversee. It's not an easy job to be a leader, even in a rather small place like a temple."

Ciri flashed him a halfhearted scowl, hiding a smile. "Can't you allow me to be petty just for a moment?"

"I wasn't aware I could deny you anything, Princess," he said, looking serious aside from his dancing eyes.

They both turned when they heard a door open, and a moment later Mother Nenneke appeared from somewhere behind the altar.

"Cirilla, my dear girl!" Smiling happily, she hurried to hug Ciri. She darted a gander Kain's way and nodded her greeting, her smile dimming behind a frown of concern. "What brings you?"

"We heard the oneiromancer who treated Yennefer is here," Ciri replied, embracing the older woman with the same fervor she wished she could hug Yennefer. "May we see her?"

The priestess's frown deepened. "I'm not supposed to talk about it or let anyone visit her. She's a new woman and knows nothing of what she used to be. She should be left in peace."

"Supposed to?" Ciri eyed Nenneke curiously. "By whose orders?"

"They don't name themselves, child, but this Temple is a sanctuary for all. We do not ask questions before providing healing and peace. She desperately needed both, and now she feels better. Why would you want to disturb her?" Nenneke looked between them with stern eyes. "Yennefer is involved, is that what you're telling me?"

"Yes," Ciri admitted. "She is unwell. Not herself. And we cannot help her until we know precisely what is wrong."

"Unwell, how?" Nenneke inquired with growing wariness. "This poor child of Goddess was not herself, and it took a lot of effort to bring peace to her soul. If you disturb her now, it could harm her mind severely before if fully heals. I cannot allow it.

"I need you to tell me about Yennefer and her part in this woman's ill fate. Tell me also if Geralt is involved. Gods know he always gets a foot or both caught in that sorceress's troubles."

"Geralt is missing," Ciri informed her with a somber sigh, filling the priestess in on everything of note that had happened lately. As well as the things she had only confessed to Kain regarding Yennefer.

"We need to know what she saw. Otherwise, how can we rectify it?"

Nenneke seemed distraught now, her face darkened with grim reverie as she digested Ciri's story. It took her a moment as she slowly shifted to the altar and tended to the candles, snuffing out the smallest to replace them with the new ones she lit.

Eventually, she turned to them with a sigh. "I do not wish to harm our new sister. However, the news you're bringing me are indeed grave. This woman holds no responsibility for Yennefer's troubles, and it's unfair to worry her after she has already suffered the greatest loss - her true identity and life. It's a big dilemma."

She rubbed her furrowed brow, whispering a prayer. Then looked up at them.

"I will allow you to see her, but I cannot allow any questions about what she's seen. Do you understand?"

"I will see what I can do without asking questions," Kain said, casting an inquiring glance at Ciri.

"And I will… see what Kain can do." Ciri shrugged in casual agreement. Truth was, she didn't feel too concerned about the woman's wellbeing. Yennefer was more important.

She didn't voice this aloud, however, as she knew it wouldn't be appreciated.

Nenneke led them through the orchard and to the rose garden where a few priestesses were cutting roses in their full bloom before they began to wilt to offer them to Goddess. They worked in pairs, conversing quietly, but one of them was alone, humming some melody while her fingers danced between the stems and over the petals, dexterously and gently like butterflies. From time to time, her humming died out when she bent to smell the roses.

"Alma, my dear," Nenneke called, approaching. "How are our roses today?"

The woman turned, her face still youthful but her hair all white, a timid smile on her face. She opened her mouth to answer but then her grey eyes fell on Ciri peeking from over Nenneke's shoulder, and her expression began to change into a grotesque mask of absolute horror. Her eyes darkened, her hands flew up in a desperate gesture meant to ward off an imminent threat. She would have screamed, too, but her constricted throat produced only wheezes.

"Alma! Alma, what is it?" Nenneke rushed to her, but the woman's wide, bulging eyes never left Ciri as though unable to stop the flow of terror. She clutched at Nenneke's shoulders, her fingers clawing at the priestess's robe, and then her eyes rolled up, and her body slumped. Kain dashed around Ciri and caught her before she hit the ground. Her hands fell off Nenneke like dead birds.

"Oh dear Goddess Melitele and her mercy, how could this have happened?" Mother Nenneke asked, utterly astonished.

Ciri stood frozen, attempting to digest the scene before her without feeling overwhelmed by guilt and hurt.

"What did she see?" she murmured to herself as Kain and Nenneke tended to the fallen Alma. "What have I done?"

"You haven't done anything, Ciri," Kain said, lifting the fallen woman in his arms. "Not your fault."

"Let's take her to her bed," Nenneke said, hurrying ahead to show the way.

Ciri followed behind them across the courtyard, trying to ignore all the curious looks thrown her way. "I thought her memory was erased. Clearly, it didn't fully work."

"Probably because the Tower's magic was too strong," Kain suggested.

"All the troubles of this world come from magic," Nenneke said. "And sorcerers."

She led them to their dormitory and through a couple of corridors to a small room with one bed and a bedside table with half a candle. A narrow window offered a source of daylight; a stretched window-shaped splotch of sunlight falling across the cot.

Kain lowered the unconscious woman onto her bed. Nenneke bent over her, examining her carefully.

"Best to let her wake on her own and see how much damage has been done," she said, straightening up. She turned to regard Ciri with piercing eyes. "You know what was in her memory? What scared her senseless?"

"Hollow misery, Yennefer called it," Ciri said, her gaze on the unconscious woman. "She said the Tower gave her only pain, but no images or lessons." She turned to regard Kain. "But apparently she was lying."

Kain merely looked at her, uncertain whether he should confirm or deny it.

"People that brought her told me she has been an oneiromancer and one of her visions went wrong," Nenneke said, shaking her head in regret. "That she has lost herself in it and now her former self is gone for good. Rare but reasonable professional risks, they call it." She emitted a disdained scoff.

"Does she have family? Do you know?" Ciri asked the priestess.

She shook her head, "They said she has no more life and has to find a new one here."

Kain crouched at the bed, his hand on Alma's, his eyes closing, a wrinkle deepening between his eyebrows in concentration. After a little while, he let go of her, getting up. He looked to Ciri and Nenneke uncertainly.

"I don't know if I could get anything out of her - she feels very... closed. Wrapped in a thick shroud. Can't tell if I could break through it and what happens to her if I do."

"I won't allow it," Nenneke said. "She has suffered enough. I'm sorry, Ciri, my child, but this woman is one of Goddess's children now and I have to protect her when no one else has."

"Of course," Ciri murmured, distracted. She reached out for the woman as well, fingertips grazing her foot, half-expecting her to start shaking and shrieking. As if Ciri's mere touch would cause her harm.

But nothing of the sort happened.

"I'm not a bad person," Ciri whispered to herself, a much-needed reminder now two people suddenly appeared to think otherwise.

"Ciri, listen to me," Kain said, stepping closer, and took her chin in his hand to make her look at him. "You have nothing to do with this. Nor with what Yennefer saw. It's not about you. It's about what Yennefer feared and the Tower gave her in full force. You understand? It's not you."

"And yet, it is me Yen avoids." Ciri gestured to Alma. "It is me who frightens Alma into unconsciousness." She met Kain's gaze again. "I may not have done anything wrong, but they are thoroughly convinced I have."

"We shall find a way to convince Yennefer otherwise," he said.

"You know what it was she saw about Ciri?" Nenneke asked, eyeing Kain through sharp eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Kain met her gaze. "From what we've seen in Alma's reaction and Yennefer's issues, I believe the Tower has focused all her greatest fears in one big threat and put Ciri's mask on it. That magic fed on Yennefer's distress and twisted her perception of Ciri into whatever the vision showed her."

"How is that possible?" Nenneke asked, both puzzled and astonished.

Kain shrugged. "Something went wrong between Yennefer and Tor Zireael's magic and the Tower magic won the battle. Yennefer was probably not supposed to get in but forced her way inside somehow and got punished. Or she simply couldn't withstand that power. She wasn't prepared. Her fears and worries for Geralt had weakened her, and the Tower crushed her."

Ciri felt mildly nauseous. "How on earth am I supposed to convince her I am not a threat to her? She will hardly look at me. We don't have time for this. Geralt is still missing and before we know it something else is going to fall apart as well."

Philippa's cruel smile flashed before her inner eye.

Kain exchanged a forlorn glance with Nenneke and cast a brief gander at Alma still unconscious on the bed, then met Ciri's wary green eyes. "What would you be willing to do to help Yennefer see your truth?"

A wary hope flickered in Ciri's stare. "Why? What do you have in mind?"

"If she thinks you're not the one you say you are – the only way to show her it's really you is to reveal your truth. It means to fully open up to her so she could see it's truly you, her Ciri. So she recognizes you and her true reality."

"If you mean opening up to her sorcery," Mother Nenneke put in, "and while Yennefer is not herself, as you say, it's too dangerous. Ciri, my sweet child, please, do not make any hasty decisions. See this woman? We don't want you to become like her."

"It is dangerous, it's true," Kain said. "It's risky and it's not the most pleasant thing to have a sorcerer have a peek in your mind, but if it's the only way to break through Yennefer's Tower jinx, the only person who can help her is Ciri. No one else can. I wish I could do it for them, but I cannot."

Ciri frowned, thinking. "Open up so she can see I harbor no ill will towards her? Allow her into my head?"

"Allow her into your mind and heart so that her soul recognizes yours," Kain explained, "and then her veil of illusion shall fall away. In theory. Magic is not exact in its effects."

"It never is," Nenneke said. "It's a very dangerous affair, one Geralt would have never approved, no matter how foolishly adoring he can be towards Yennefer. Please, Ciri, think about it. There must be some other way. Do not endanger yourself so much, child. You are too important."

"She's family," Ciri told the priestess. "There's nothing I would not do for her. Or Geralt."

"If you ruin yourself by doing it, you won't help either of them," Nenneke insisted, her face a mask of naked worry that was borderline fear.

"We will have to come up with some least risky plan," Kain said to placate Nenneke. "Ciri is stronger than any mage. She shan't end up like this woman. There might be no danger like that."

"Might be," scoffed Nenneke. "Magic is not to be toyed with in any form. There is always danger. Magic brings only pain and demise."

"It also cures things nothing else can remedy," Kain added in a quiet voice, casting a pensive glance at Alma.

"Think anyone can?" Ciri asked him in regard to the unconscious one. "Elves, perhaps? Someone who knows the tower's magic?"

Kain shook his head slowly, "There is no way to know with magic. You could barely find any elf wishing to give it a try even if they knew how to do it."

"This woman has to be left in peace," Nenneke said. "There should be no more magic experiments done on her. She has lost too much to sorcery and spells."

Avallac'h might be able to, Ciri thought, but he was as absent as Geralt.

"As you wish," she said eventually. "We should go, Kain. Sorceresses to heal and witchers to find."

They walked out of the Temple's gates and took a stroll through the nearby forest, both mulling over what happened to Alma and what could be done for Yennefer. The birds were chirping happily around them, the sun broke through the canopies with its bright rays, leaving patches of radiance on their path, but none of that late summer glory could soothe their grim reveries.

"You might want to get another early night," Kain suggested. "You need more rest, concerning your moon condition. Do not beat yourself up over Alma or Yennefer, though. Remember it's not your doing. It's merely magic reminding us of its true power, of how unpredictable and twisted it can be. Nenneke is not wrong; we all can get too careless with it."

"Magic is beautiful," Ciri said. "I've always thought so. It led Geralt to me. Led Yennefer to me. Led me to you." She gave him the side-eye, humorous. "And I bleed every moon. I know how to take care of it."

"I do not, so I follow my intuition when suggesting things." He returned her smile.

When they arrived back at the riverbank where Ciri had found Kain earlier that day, the sun was well on its way of recline, and the blinding orange lights danced merrily over the water surface, rippling with the currents. Children from the village ran around in the distance, playing, their laughter echoing along the river.

Kain took Ciri's hands in his, holding her attention. "Do not rush things with Yennefer. Take it easy and think it through first. Do not approach her while you're worried. You need to be calm and confident in yourself, no matter what she says or does. All right? She is confused, but you are not."

Ciri nodded, her gaze falling to their joined hands. He'd been doing that a lot more recently – touching her. Perhaps because she had stopped pushing for it. No matter the reason, she loved it.

"I will be gentle."

He pulled her into an embrace. "And patient," he added in a whisper, his breath tickling her ear. Then he withdrew, a small tender smile on his lips. "If you need my help, you'll always find me."

Ciri was grinning, her cheeks flushing with a pink hue. "I'll always find you," she promised, squeezing his hand before parting.

Kelpie awaited.

---

Back at the palace, Ciri opted for Morvran's quarters instead of her own. Unmindful of her disheveled appearance from yet another long ride, she actually knocked and waited for the door to be opened this time.

He met her with his usual enticing smile and invited her to join him - when she walked in, she saw he was starting dinner.

"Your ride has been pleasant, I trust?" he inquired, pouring her a glass of Coronata.

"Mhmm, yes, very pleasant," she said dismissively, taking a seat. "How was your ride earlier?"

"I don't believe I ever had a ride that qualified as unpleasant." He cut a generous slice of meat pie and handed the plate to her.

"No? Never been chased by vicious murderers?" she quipped, stabbing her fork into the pie.

"Never say never," he laughed. "There have been many a chase, as well as wars and campaigns, parades and marches. But any kind of ride is still good for me. From what I saw of you with your magnificent mare, I believe you understand what I mean."

"I've always enjoyed horses. But Kelpie makes it better." She sipped her drink. "So, you and Yennefer, hm? I didn't realize you two were close."

"Depends on how you define close," Morvran shrugged nonchalantly and sipped his wine. "I've told you she's been staying here after her first encounter with the Hunt, and we've shared a few pleasant conversations. We've discussed some topics she found interesting. It helped her recover her memory faster. I've also been helping her look for Geralt and you."

"What did you discuss today?"

"We were mostly busy riding. It was a fun forest race. It seemed to have entertained Lady Yennefer. She loves the thrill of competition, I reckon."

"There's rarely much competition for her. She's victorious more often than not."

Ciri allowed herself a moment to eat before continuing.

"So she is well enough to ride and race. It's strange. Last I saw her she said she was feeling frail."

"I haven't been to her quarters personally," Morvran admitted. "Didn't want to disturb her privacy, given she has close friends to assist her there. But whenever she's been out and about, I haven't noticed her being frail."

"Then I take it she is feeling better," Ciri lied smoothly, trying not to let the tiny bitter voice in the back of her mind get too loud. It was not Yennefer's fault. Ciri had to remind herself of that. "So did you plan this ride today or did you simply happen upon one another?"

"I was at the stables when she showed up," he said. "I offered my company and she gracefully accepted."

"And what did you talk about when you weren't riding? Did she tell you what happened to her? I'm curious if she remembers."

"No, we don't discuss what happened to her. I do not suppose it's helpful for her well-being if I pry and remind her of it. She's been talking to her friends about it, I presume. Have you asked them? Or Lady Yennefer herself, which would be more convenient, given she is the direct source of such information?" He eyed her curiously, sending a forkful of pie into his mouth.

"I have, yes. I have asked her friends," Ciri confessed, angrily stabbing the pie. "Seems she's not really all that forthcoming with information. Probably too used to handling everything on her own."

Morvran nodded with a mien of polite understanding. "Oh yes, she does give an impression of a very confident lady who doesn't appreciate anyone solving her issues for her. She reaches out for help when she sees absolutely no other option or – like with searching for you and Geralt – when she knows it would be faster than her doing all the work alone. I find most sorceresses – if not all of them, really — very independent. Perhaps, it's the brand of their occupation."

"Or because certain sorcerers have a tendency to turn on one another," Ciri suggested. "They're cutthroat and competitive, and some won't hesitate to betray their friends in order to get ahead. I imagine you'd trust very few with friends like that."

"That is very insightful," he praised. "Does that mean Lady Yennefer is the only sorceress you trust?"

"Fully? Yes."

He raised his eyebrows in amused interest. "What about Lady Merigold who keeps referring to you as her little sister?"

Ciri was quiet for a moment. "I trust her with my life. But not my heart."

"Sounds a bit odd," he mused. "As though a lot but at the same time nearly nothing. Why is it she hasn't earned your heart while she seems to have gifted hers to you?"

Ciri's eyes narrowed, reluctant to tell him the truth. It would leave her even more vulnerable than before.

"Because she continues to fight for the physical attention from the man I… care about. Just as she attempts to snatch Geralt from Yennefer every time the latter has her back turned." She frowned. "I know Triss loves me. She would lay down her life to save mine. But I think she would let my heart break if her prize was the love of a desirable man."

"I see," he drawled, pensive. "Love and romantic desires do not favor compromises, nor take prisoners. It is a shame to have it come between people as close as you three. Haven't Geralt and… the man you care about made their own preferences known to her?"

"Not to my knowledge. It is my experience that men do not desire one partner. They want to remain open for all women, all possibilities. And so they rarely reject anyone outright. They keep the women questioning and hoping that something more can grow. That perhaps there is a chance…"

Ciri drank. "Just as you've started to let them go, they pull you back in."

A meditative little smile twitched on Morvran's mouth. "Even though it's understandable why your experience has formed such a perception, I should also state for the sake of being fair that not every single man falls into such a category. It's always a mistake to generalize anything or any sort of people. It leads to misconceptions that could cost you a painful slip of judgment.

"However, I have to admit there's a lot of stories, rumors, and ballads coursing around the North about the White Wolf and his romantic escapades, and hardly there is anyone who would get busy investigating how many of those stories are actually true. It must be a challenge for a possessive woman to be with a man like that. I admire Lady Yennefer for her confidence and strength. I'm most certain Geralt thinks highly of her and her qualities. He might be many things, but a simpleton he is not."

"Of course he does. He loves her. He simply cannot remember that he does… at the moment." Another contemplative sip. "Perhaps I am naive? In the stories my governesses read me at bedtime, the princess's parents were always loyal and lovingly devoted to one another. I never stopped wanting that."

"It's not naïve to want that for your closest people," Morvran said. "It's not naïve to wish for love that strong. I believe it's everyone's eternal wish, whether they believe it possible or not. One's heart desires what it desires regardless of what one's mind thinks of it. And let me tell you: if after everything they've been through they still feel they belong together, it is that kind of love and devotion you keep wanting for them. Sometimes true love is not that perfect and pretty where they never stray from one another and never doubt or never argue."

He finished his wine and refilled their glasses.

"I might not be old and wise enough to state anything," he continued, sitting back in his chair, "but during my meagre age I've learned perfection does not exist. Everything has flaws. Even the most transparent jewel sparkles the brightest due to those minuscule flaws it has hidden inside. Without them, light wouldn't create that enchanting effect we all admire in precious stones. Same with love. The more trials it overcomes, the stronger and more beautiful it becomes. Not many people deem scars pretty, but scar tissue is stronger than the original skin or bone. It's a story of a trial won, and every labored victory is beautiful in my eyes."

It was a lot to absorb and a lot more eloquent than Ciri would have been able to word it. There was truth to Morvran's speech, too, though perhaps not exactly the one Ciri wished to hear.

"I don't wish for perfection. I don't believe in such a thing. What I do wish for most often is clarity. Yes or no. It either is or it is not. I despise how vague everyone around me appears to be with their emotions. Being left to question and wonder… it can be the greatest torment for a soul that is already vulnerable." She gestured to Morvran with her chalice, a small smirk curling her lips. "It is a very Aen Elle way of thinking, you know. This vagueness. Metaphors that make no sense. I ask for apples and they tell me to compare peaches and pears. No question can be easily answered by the Aen Elle."

"The description you offer fits an elven Sage," Morvran remarked. "Is it your Sage friend that frustrates you or is there someone else you wish to be more open with you?"

"Avallac'h certainly has his moments," Ciri murmured. "The others of his kind could also fit the description, though perhaps in a lesser sense." She met Morvran's gaze. "Surely you must occasionally face similar dilemmas in politics."

"There's plenty of masks and veils in politics," he nodded. "Being good at reading people and seeing through masks is essential for solving such dilemmas."

"And were you always good at reading people or did you learn through your career?" Ciri asked, hoping he would admit to the latter. Perhaps then there would be hope for her as well.

"No one is born wise and savvy, Cirilla," he said with a kind smile. "I've been tutored for years and then had to learn the hard way at court and then at war and its parleys and negotiations. There's still a lot to learn and your royal father still puts me to shame from time to time with his own skills. But I like to learn. I like a challenge."

"You would have liked my grandmother. She was also quite skillful at the art you describe," Ciri said in remembrance of Calanthe.

"I harbor a lot of admiration for your grandmother from things I've learned about her character and rule. She was a great queen. You are very lucky to have known her personally."

"Agreed. Shame Emhyr could not leave well enough alone." Ciri poured herself some more wine to douse the bitter memories.

"It was one of the dark moments of history, I'm afraid," Morvran said wistfully, eyeing the wine in his glass, "when several factors came into play. You were there and Queen Calanthe would have never given you up. Cintra itself is a magnificent realm grown from an elven legacy. Emhyr's advisors were tearing him relentlessly to go for it." He took a sip and looked at her, a ghost of sympathy in his eye. "I hope you can visit your homeland soon, Princess. I know it won't give your family back to you, but it might bring some comfort to see it's been rebuilt and recovered and awaiting its true heir."

"I am not certain I wish to return. I still see the burned and slashed faces of my people when I dream at night. I still hear the screams. I don't think I will find any comfort there at all. Only reminders of the horrifying memories that haunt my nightmares."

She drank again, emptying the chalice in one go. "Speaking of nightmares, I should go. Attempt to get some sleep."

"The new Cintra could soothe your nightmares," he said. "Or perchance heal them. It's something to consider when you have time for such reveries, Princess. For now, you have to focus on rest and gaining strength for what's coming." He set down his glass and got up, smiling, holding a hand to help her up.

"Indeed," Ciri agreed because she did not want to speak of Cintra anymore.

She took Morvran's offered hand and allowed him to help her up, which was a good thing because her head was suddenly cloudy from the wine.

"Thank you for dinner," she smiled and made for the door. "And forgive me for intruding on your evening."

"Your intrusions are my pleasure, Princess," he said, bestowing an enticing smile upon her. "Do you wish me to show you to your quarters? This castle can be confusing until you get used to it."

Ciri shook her head. "No, I will find my way." If not by foot, then magic. "But I thank you for the offer, General."

He bowed, smiling. "Have a good night, M'Lady."

Morvran hadn't been entirely wrong; the castle did look different at night without the sun streaming in through the windows. But Ciri still remembered the paths to take.

She briefly considered heading to Yennefer's wing to check on her, but in the end, she did not even take a step in that direction. Her stomach pitched unpleasantly at the mere thought of opening herself up to the sorceress' all-seeing gaze when there was so much tension between them. If only Yennefer had been less afraid. Perhaps then it would be simpler. Perhaps it would have been better if Ciri knew exactly what Yennefer had experienced in the tower. If only she had confessed her fears to Morvran… Then Ciri could have helped her more easily.

But no, that was a lie. Ciri did not want Yennefer to see her secrets under any circumstance. She did not believe she could direct the sorceress to the ones that were safe. Yennefer'd see everything.

Every shameful morsel of who Ciri had become.

Ciri hurried for her own room before her mind could try and convince her otherwise again.

Tonight was not the best time for an attempt, Ciri decided. Kain had said she needed to be calm and patient, and Ciri felt anything but, at the moment.

Tomorrow, perhaps…

After a good night's sleep.

---

The Forest was silent, as though still holding its vigil for its princess after all those years. Time held no power over the sacred grounds of Brokilon, and the deeper Kain trod, the more his heart ached at how vivid and alive his memories were becoming.

It was like stepping back into the same time in the past as though nothing else past that had ever happened. The same smells, the same sounds of subtle, almost intimate babbling of brooks trickling over the stony wall around a small cavern all covered with moss that gave off a green and blueish glow at night. Brokilon fireflies were gathering on it then, feasting on nectar in tiny flowers, and their own shining changed colors, reflecting in the hot springs pond beneath like a magical light show. Many a night Kain had spent here with her in these waters, making love and then marveling at the nightly charm of the Forest.

On nearly numb feet he slowly approached her, his eyes almost deceiving him enough to call out her name.

The tree was tall, with a lush canopy and small, slender leaves the color of fresh spring green. Her figure was growing from the thick trunk, connected to it by her back as if she had stepped out of it to catch some tender morning sun on her skin; a bunch of arrows stood out behind her shoulder, half-hidden by her mane of hair. The bark covering her body was different from the main tree, creating an illusion of her being real. It was smooth, the lightest shade of brownish-green, with no cracks or defects. Patches of moss partially covered her breasts and hips, as well as her hair, darker in color, where its tiny white, blue, and pink flowers bloomed. One of her hands held a longbow propped on the ground, another hand was palm-up, and upon it bloomed a patch of moss crowned with bigger purple and pink flowers. Their petals still gave a faint glow that was dimming rapidly the brighter the morning was getting.

Kain's breath caught in the lump in his throat; he stopped before her, his heart pinched in a throe of recognition and familiar pain, so much more intense than he had expected. More so than inside Tor Zireael that had gifted him with a vision of her live lovely face and that wonderful smile holding no hint of battle fury he had also seen in her.

He reached out, before he knew he did it, and caressed her cheek, trailed a finger along her jawline and down her neck, stopping short of the carved stone amulet that hung on it. The one she had gifted him after the first moon anniversary of his arrival. He had left it in her mother's hand before he left Brokilon; now it was a part of him meant to remain with her for as long as her tree lived. Probably forever, he reckoned.

The bark of her "skin" felt warm to the touch; only her eyes could not deceive his. They would not turn to meet his, nor shine with a smile before it claimed her lips. They would never look at him again. They were wood, the same bark, albeit a bit darker due to the master's desire to highlight them. But no amount of talent of any hamadryad would breathe life into those bark eyes.

Morénn would never walk out of that tree in flesh to greet him, but her spirit was certainly here, in every leaf rustling in the morning breeze above her image, in every pebble hiding in the grass, in every flower blooming on the moss patches. That grand tree was keeping her eternal memory and beauty for those who loved and lost her. The forest held on to its princess in a frozen form.

He drew in a long, unsteady breath and found his face wet with tears; they were streaming down, cooling his skin in the lackadaisical breeze that worried the tree leaves. Kain tore his eyes off Morénn's cenotaph and knelt before the pond, splashing water in his face and brushing his hair back from it. He raised his chin, closed his eyes, and caught the warmth of the young morning sun seeping through the canopy. Several bright sunlight spots danced across the water's surface chased by colorful fish.

He never heard a sound, but a shift of energy urged him to look behind him. A dryad wearing a light green flowing dress in tone with her hair and eyes was standing in polite waiting.

"The Lady shall see you now," she said, her voice subtle like the wind whispering among the branches. Kain recalled her voice could echo with menacing power when it needed to.

He nodded, getting up. "Thank you, Sinéad. Good to see you again."

She bowed slightly in acknowledgment and led the way, her feet making no sounds against the grass and moss. She seemed to be flowing, her long loose hair barely worrying in her movements.

The Lady of the Forest received him in her initiating grove. Her throne was weaved from a mossy bush by some talented hamadryad and decorated with beautiful fragrant red flowers with dark blue outlines. Kain recalled the flowers changed their coloring depending on the season. In the middle of the grove, another relic grew from the ground: a wooden chalice entwined with a blooming liana. The chalice was filled with clear water that lured and inspired thirst and longing in anyone daring to gaze into it.

"You have finally gone and seen her," Eithné uttered, turning to face him. She stood by her throne as though she had just risen from it, her silver hair flowing down her shoulders, arms, and chest.

"It was time," he said, approaching. He bent a knee and head before her throne's pedestal, but an instant later her hand touched his shoulder, inviting him to get up.

"You do not have to. Not now."

He rose and met her gaze; standing on her throne stairs, she was level with him.

"You look ill, Gwyncath. What ails you?"

"Lack of sleep. I had to help someone in need last night."

She nodded subtly. Her sharp silver eyes were studying him, piercing and yet somehow soothing.

"If fate had made a different turn, would you have stayed here with Morénn?"

Kain had to think about it, even though he'd had those private reveries two years ago when he had to come back to Brokilon for a while.

"I cannot tell if it would have lasted or not," he said eventually, "but I know I would have tried."

"Perhaps it is time for you to think it over once again," she said, strolling across the clearing towards the chalice. "The time of trial is coming. The time of dissent. No one will remain untouched. You have to make a choice about where to belong before the world is split and you find yourself in the middle. There is not going to be a middle ground to keep, Gwyncath."

Kain considered it, observing her with narrowed, gauging eyes. "Have you chosen your side?"

"It is inevitable," she said calmly, standing over the chalice. "It's been foretold, and now it's coming. This world wasn't meant to belong to men. Everything dh'oine touch turns to ashes and decay."

"Everything Aen Elle touch turns to ice and death," Kain countered. "How can you trust them to be saviors when their own world is dying and they bring that death with them wherever they go?"

Her mouth twitched with a smile; it was one of cold knowing. "You believe it is I who is relentless, but my will to resist is rooted in how relentless dh'oine are in their insatiable hunger for domination and destruction. They break and hack and kill and never nurture nor heal. How can you fault me for fighting to preserve life while they destroy it?"

"You are older and wiser than them. You do not kill children for doing silly things, and dh'oine are still children compared to Aen Seidhe and Aen Woedbeanna."

"Our children know better than ripping wings off flies and beetles. Dh'oine never learn, Gwyncath, because they do not wish to. They build a wall of swords and remain behind it, killing everything in sight. They had a lot of time but changed naught. Now Tedd Deireadh is upon us."

"I am a dh'oine myself."

Her face softened momentarily as she reached out to brush a strand of hair from his eye. "As well as sidh. Hen Ichaer. Like Xin'trea luned. You both stand on the cleft that widens with every passing day. You choose a side or you fall down into the abyss between them. Your choice is destined. One cannot resist one's destiny. The ashen-haired luned knows this."

"I believe in making my own destiny."

A sad sympathy reflected on her ageless face. "It is youth talk. Your brother Gwynbleidd believed the same for a long time. Did not wish to hear reason nor wisdom. Now he knows. Now he sees."

Something within Kain's chest began to grow cold with foreboding. "What is the meaning of it? Is he here? Has he spoken to you?"

"He has not come before my eyes, but left something for when you came back."

One of the three young dryads that had been observing them from under a tree on the edge of the clearing approached with something wrapped in a cloth in her arms. Inside the parcel was his trusted bow and quiver filled with arrows that he had left behind in Skellige in Ermion's care. Beneath the quiver was a small silky pouch. Kain unbound it and shook its contents onto his open palm.

A white medallion fell out, sending a comber of heat through his spine. The surface sparkled in the morning sun; the elven woman's profile was stained with blood. The color was bright crimson and fresh, but when Kain brushed his thumb over it, the stone was dry as though it had absorbed the splotch through its microscopic pores.

"Gwynbleidd left this for me?" His own voice sounded strange and distant to him. He couldn't tear his eyes off Lara's bloodstained profile glistening on his palm. "When?"

"A bit short of a fortnight ago."

"Was he alone?"

"With several Aen Seidhe that had taken refuge here many a time."

Kain stared at her, his heart beating too hollow and loudly in his ears. "Did he pass any message?"

"Indeed. He expects you to join him for a hunt."

---

The sun was burning brightly, pouring generous heat over Oxenfurt from its zenith, but deep down underground in the old catacombs under the Academy, it was another world altogether. A dark, damp, and cold world with misleading turns and odd sounds echoing confusingly against the ceiling and molded walls. Every turn and every piece of chipped wall seemed the same, and the endlessness of it all was beginning to depress.

Kain thought it would be easy to find the right place, however, it took him three failed attempts before he stopped in his tracks, closed his eyes, and made an effort to calm down and restore his pulse and breathing to lower its pace. His earlier visit to Brokilon with its unsettling revelations was taking its toll and the conversation with Fealinn that had followed did little to comfort or reassure him.

Once he was able to push away the squelching fear for Geralt and the implications of the message the dryad Queen had passed along, Kain summoned his magical light once again and began to search anew.

The piece of the wall that Geralt had bashed in with Aard on the day he had disappeared was restored. Kain reckoned it could have been Triss and Fringilla to keep it secret from any people working and studying at the Academy. Ancient elven secrets promised nothing good to anyone unprepared for such tests.

Kain wasn't going to break through it the same rude way. Instead, he snuffed out his light spell and closed his eyes once again, focusing his magic on a trance. When he was ready, he began to walk forward and through the old bricks as though they were illusory, the same way he had done before in the bog cave in Velen.

The air shifted when he got into the cave inside, and he stopped, his eyes opening. It was pitch black around, but he could see the faint outlines highlighted by energetic auras of the cave. Now that he had reached a calmer state of mind, everything worked better. He lingered, looking around with his sight for any trails, but it was quite clear that no one had been here after Yennefer and Ciri on the same day a tad over a fortnight ago.

When he followed the narrow path to the wall with the old elven portal arc, the setting changed. There was a new trail here Kain picked up with a grim recognition that chilled his blood. Something on the floor was shining brightly to his sight. He picked up another anchor medallion at the foot of the arc. His pulse was racing again, his fatigue growing heavier in his head and muscles with every shaky breath he took. His Cat medallion vibrated subtly against his chest reacting to magic. There was blood smeared over Lara's face. Same blood. Geralt's.

(He expects you to join him for a hunt.)

Shivering like a bloodhound before the fox's burrow, his fingers tightening around the cold stone of the anchor, Kain realized it was extremely stupid and suicidal to go in.

But there was Geralt's blood on both anchors he had recovered, and Kain identified its call. There was a thin, high-pitched thrill running through his every nerve and blood cell he couldn't suppress. It pressed into his temples like two giant hands and rummaged inside his skull like live fingers, making him tremble as though he was an overstretched string about to snap. He didn't trust he was capable of walking away from this spot, of squeezing back through the cleft tunnel and using his magic once again to get out of there through the solid wall without disturbing it. He could make no step back. The only way he could move was forward, through the portal. Into the fox's burrow.

"You're not strong enough to pursue this right now," Fealinn had persuaded him a few hours ago. "Rest first, then talk to Ciri, help her with Yennefer. You need them both. I beg you, be reasonable! Do not go alone."

He knew he shouldn't have.

He knew he couldn't do otherwise.

Staring at the arc gleaming with its defined energy in his entranced eyes, Kain felt like someone suspended underwater with nothing but the cold darkness of the deep above, around, and beneath, and nothing to measure his existence with but the heavy beats of his agitated heart. Like a man in a dream, he wondered whether it was his choice or what Eithné called destiny.

(Your choice is destined. One cannot escape destiny.)

He wondered whether he could or would turn it around now. Now, he thought while his fingers fiddled with the anchor smeared with Geralt's blood. He took his eyes off the arc and looked at it in his hand, its magical aura shimmering. He watched his hand beginning to recline, slowly, as though the hand was not his, and answered to someone else's command. He watched the anchor begin to shift against his palm, slip closer to the edge, and finally slip off, hitting the floor with a subtle jingle.

His hand reached for the wall within the arc, making a sweeping gesture; and the portal flashed alight, cutting off his last doubt.

He stepped through. A momentary shot of cold and heat, and then his eyes narrowed instinctively against the lights.

The crystals at the ceiling of the abandoned lab were still emanating their glow. His Cat medallion throbbed, indicating more magic than met the eye. Kain could sense it — another vibration to add to the relentless quivering in his strained nerves — but couldn't place it. It felt as though coming from everywhere. The physical light shoved him out of his trance he needed to spot the spell residue, but other senses interfered and pulled at his attention.

That scent… It shocked him into a stupor. Impossible, kept beating in his anxious, exhausted mind, impossible, impossible…

He whirled around abruptly to face whoever was behind him.

"It took you quite a while."