10 "Fear", 17 "Blackmail", 21 "Let's play a game."

Cahir wakes up to the pleasant scent of vanilla and lemon. How odd, it feels like it is coming from very close to his nose. Curious and, at the same time, slightly alarmed, he opens his eyes. And there she is, the blonde sorceress, sleeping not even half an arm's length away from him, her face turned toward his, a dreamy smile on her full lips. So beautiful and so close he can almost feel her sweet breath on his face. For a moment, he just stares at her, puzzled. Why on the continent has she chosen to move her bedroll directly next to his? She hates him, and rightfully so, doesn't she? Not that he would complain about this surprising change, but it is a little disconcerting. As disconcerting as the effect her proximity, her enticing scent, her wonderously beautiful features are having on him. What would happen if he bent over and kissed her on these rosy-red, half-open lips? Shit, where did that idea come from? He should not even think about something like this. She would probably curse him into tomorrow, and not only metaphorically so. Or she might cut his throat with her dagger. Or turn him into a worm. No, as tempting as it is, he must not touch her. And not stare at her, she might not like that, either. They are still enemies, even though she has saved him, gods know why.

Cahir tears his eyes away from the peacefully sleeping Sabrina, turns onto his side, his back to her, and looks around. The cave is suffused with the dim light of a rainy, rather late and chilly morning. The patter of the rain must have woken him up from his, for once, remarkably dreamless sleep. Was it a welcome side-effect of Sabrina's anti-hangover spell that has driven away his usual nightmares? Must be. Or maybe it was due to her close proximity? Strangely enough, he feels safe with the blonde sorceress although he knows that she is bound to have an ulterior motive for helping him. Mages always have. She will want information, most likely. Maybe she intends to first lull him into a false sense of security to then, out of the blue, come down on her unsuspecting prisoner and pry his secrets from him? A more subtle approach to gain information than Tissaia's, but at the end of the day not so very different after all, Cahir suspects. He might still come to regret that he did not bleed to death ...

"How's your head?" he suddenly hears Sabrina's voice from behind him. It is a tad husky from sleep and very, very close. So close it almost takes his breath away.

"Cat got your tongue?" she asks with a silvery giggle when he does not answer immediately. But, to Cahir's relief, the sorceress moves away from him, yawns, stretches and rises to her feet.

"I'm good," he says, trying to sound casual while pretending to watch the raindrops fall like a curtain separating their cave from the outside world. The splitting headache is indeed gone and only his hand and shoulder still hurt a little when he moves. "And thank you," he adds, "you didn't have to help me."

"Very true, I didn't. Plus I can assure you, I'm usually not the bleeding-heart type of a person. So, better not count on me doing it again, understood?"

"Then, why save me?" Cahir turns around and looks the blonde sorceress in the eye. Funny, it is the same question he asked Yennefer when she told him to get on her horse, before they rode away from his execution. What will Sabrina answer?

"Good question," she says thoughtfully, but with a glint of mischief in her expressive eyes. What colour are they? Cahir suddenly wonders. Green? Blue? Hazel? Turquoise like her dress and cloak? It is hard to tell in the dim light of the cave, but he wishes he knew.

"Let's say," Sabrina interrupts her prisoner's musings, "I like to play." Her lips curl into a smile. It somehow looks predatory. A chill runs down Cahir's spine.

"Play like the cat does with her prey?" he asks, trying not to think too much of what normally happens to a cat's prey during and after what the prey would hardly call a game.

"Mmh, that depends." Sabrina's grin broadens.

"Depends on what?"

"Simple. It depends on how much I like my prey. So, if you don't want to end up as my breakfast," the sorceress pauses ominously, "you better indulge me and do what I tell you."

Cahir snorts loudly. Like he suspected, now comes the price for her kindness. As there is always a cost to everything. Even the White Flame's benevolence came with a price tag attached. Much too high a price. He had stupidly paid it. And will regret it for the rest of his life.

"If you do," Sabrina continues, her voice taking on a sudden, seductive undertone, "I'm sure you'll come to like our game." She fills a glass with an amber liquid and holds it out to Cahir. "Here, drink this."

Struck with sudden fear, Cahir stares at the glass, at the fluid that looks exactly like Fringilla's mead. He breaks into a cold sweat. Botany. The paralysing qualities of nightshade. Is the witch planning to poison him?

"It's not poison, I promise," Sabrina adds with a reassuring smile as if she had read his thoughts. "It'll just make our little game more fun. You have had mead before, Cahir, haven't you?"

He swallows nervously, then nods. "What — What if I won't drink it?"

"Then you're more stupid than I thought possible. Why so suspicious, Nilfgaardian?"

"You'd be too," he huffs, "if you'd been served mead spiked with nightshade and then, while paralysed, had been made to watch how the witch killed four high-ranking generals in cold blood right before your very eyes, not knowing if you'd be next to be murdered."

"What? A witch did that? Who?" Sabrina inquires, raising her eyebrow in surprise. That must have been a sight to behold, and thoroughly horrifying to witness as a potential victim of the bloodthirsty mage.

"Fringilla," Cahir says, shuddering at the memory.

"No way!" Sabrina exclaims, intrigued. "Fringilla? But why? She fought side by side with you and the elves!"

"It's a long story." Cahir swallows again. A long and pretty bleak and bloody story. "Do you know, is she— is Fringilla still alive?" he then asks.

"Yes. As far as I know, she left the island together with Francesca."

Cahir sighs with relief. Despite the horrible mead experience, he still likes Fringilla and was genuinely happy to see her alive. She did spare him in the end, after all, and the generals had it coming if he is honest. A bunch of racist arseholes. But why did Fringilla come to Aretuza? What is she planning? It was obvious that she is not working for Emhyr var Emreis anymore, but thinking for herself. Does she intend to partner up with Francesca again? Back in Cintra, the two women were very close for a while, and now that Filavandrel is dead ...

"Enough of Fringilla," Sabrina interrupts Cahir's train of thought. "Let's play that game. As you might have guessed, it's a nice little interrogation game, and I'm sorry, but I have to insist you drink that mead." The sorceress presses the glass into Cahir's hand. "For if you don't, I'll tell Tissaia about you."

"No nightshade, I swear by Melitele and all the gods that might or might not exist," she adds quickly, seeing Cahir go pale. "Even by your White Flame, if you wish."

Cahir stares at the glass in his hand, then at the blonde sorceress.

"You're blackmailing me?" he asks with a muffled voice. However, the question is not really necessary, and neither is the answer. It is obvious. It is what he would do in Sabrina's shoes, too. Moreover, he cannot deny that it is extremely effective. They both know what will happen to him if she does tell the Aretuza headmistress of his whereabouts. And they equally know that he would rather die than spend a single day, even a single hour, at the mercy of Tissaia de Vries. His gaze fixates on the glass in his hand again. He could smash it and attack Sabrina with the shards, hoping she will kill him while defending herself. Or he could cut his throat with it himself and take the Emperor's secrets with him to his grave. Yet, why would he do that? He has already betrayed the White Flame, of his own free will. Even more importantly, he has promised Princess Cirilla to find her. How can he keep this promise if he is dead? And Cahir knows that she is in grave danger. She needs to be found and rescued. Playing along with Sabrina's interrogation game appears to be his best shot at getting out of here alive to fulfil his new, self-appointed mission. Emhyr can go fuck himself.

He raises the glass and swallows its amber content in one big gulp.