The next day she woke with her head resting on the dusty pages of the book. She yawned and stretched her limbs, letting her energy course through them to ease the discomfort from a terrible night of sleeping in a chair. Her foray into the books she bought hadn't been as fruitful as she hoped, but at least now she knew more about the arrival of men to the Continent and their subsequent ascension over the elder races.

After putting herself together and breaking her fast, she returned to her room to go through the rest of the books.

By the end of the day, she had learned as much as she could from them and Ithlinne's prophecy was the one that rang most interesting to her.

The text held in "Prophecies and Myths" stated that the world would succumb to the White Frost and would be reborn of Elder Blood, a planted seed that "would not sprout but burst into flames". It was plain as day that the text referred to Ciri's Elder Blood. The mention of a world perished under ice and reborn under a new sun brought back to mind the vision she had when she first prodded the depths of the void for answers. It had to be a new Conjunction, just as she had suspected. And the White Light, as she soon learned, was one of the titles Ciri's birth father held. It all slowly came into focus in her mind as she read more. The time of the sword and axe, the time of the Wolf's Blizzard. Something was drawing near and Ciri would be at the centre of it, along with Geralt.

How and why these exceptional events happened was one thing she didn't know. Conjunctions were a tricky thing, and few knew their inner workings. The fact that they took place millennia apart didn't help, either. Her best bet was to search the Eternity Spire for information, meaning she had to travel to Idris again. But first, she had to take care of her outstanding business in Novigrad.

Her first stop was at the herbalist shop to pick up her order and take the items to the hospital. Once again, she excused herself and left the doctor with the promise that she'd deliver a new batch of products in a week.

Next, she had to collect her new attire from Elihal's shop. The garments she had commissioned should have been ready, and she was eager to have more than two changes of clothes.

She found the elf busy at his sowing table, fussing over a piece of material and colourfully cursing under his breath.

"Are you unhappy with the quality of the fabric?" she asked, curious about what got him so upset.

"No, it's nothing to do with it," he huffed and shoved the material aside. "I've just had an unpleasant visit. Ever since the mages left, the witch hunters have moved their attention to us non-humans."

She nodded pensively. "I've had the bad fortune of witnessing such an encounter at the herbalist shop I deal with, but thankfully, the halfling came out unharmed in the end. They simply wanted free service out of him."

"These kinds of things used to be relegated to the city walls, but now, more often than not, they've started happening here too. And it's always the same. They come, shout profanities, insults, then walk out with a fresh new doublet they didn't pay for or they toss the place if I refuse to give them anything. A merchant down the street dared to stand up to them and threatened them with a pitchfork when they came to pick off his goods. They left, and he thought that was the end of it. Until his shop caught fire the next night."

"Poor man. Did anything survive the fire?"

Elihal shook his head, his eyes cast down. "He lost all his goods, but thankfully, no one was harmed. And we take care of our own. His family will be fed over winter and we'll help him rebuild." He sighed. "But you've not come here to listen to me complain. I'll fetch you your garments."

He disappeared into the next room and came back with an armful of items, including a stunning piece tailored from the beautiful burgundy fabric they had chosen together. She looked over the dress with appreciation. The stitching was impeccable, the embroidery superb. All in all, it was a spectacular piece of clothing and she couldn't have been happier with her choice of tailor.

"Elihal, this is absolutely wonderful! I've never seen such exquisite craftsmanship!" She patted her pocket and extracted a small ruby from it, adding it to the pouch of coin already laying on the tailor's desk. "I don't think my words can properly convey just how grateful I am for your amazing work."

"Thank you," the elf said, blushing up to the tip of his pointed ears as he hid away the jewel inside an inner pocket of his shirt.

Elihal neatly packed all the items, taking care not to wrinkle the fabric, and soon she was back on the path leading up into the city.

Once she dropped everything in her room, she picked up a sketchpad and some charcoal and mumbled something about going sightseeing to Dandelion before heading for the stable to collect her horse. The mare greeted her with a neigh and nudged her side once she came closer.

"Well, aren't you glad to see me?" The horse sniffed her out with interest. "Or it might just be the biscuits I bring you," she said with a smile while pulling a treat from her bag. "I should just call you Cookie." She patted the horse's neck with long strokes. "Yeah, that'll be your name. Cookie." The mare nudged her again at the sound of her name. "At least that way, when I'll call you, you're sure to come. Even if it's just to get a treat."

She set out for Drahim Castle, and soon she was once again in her floating apartment. It was only a quick stop before going to the Eternity Spire, the all-encompassing library that had tomes for anything and everything one could imagine.

The transporter took her to the quarter of the city that dealt with research. Amidst the regular stack of cubes that formed the laboratories for each profession, stood the pearl of this world, the Eternity Spire - the first building to ever appear on the surface of this barren planet. It looked nothing like the modern techmagic buildings they all used. Its shape was closer to a tall sandcastle with buttresses and spiralling towers, flowery and light, narrowing towards the peak. Instead of metal and glass, it was made from a translucent material that was unique to it. It caught light and reflected it in a myriad of colours, and some even said it was visible from space. None knew who built it, but all knew it predated any other structure they ever encountered and access to the tomes inside was granted based on worth. The lower levels were accessible to most, but she knew that she'd have to reach the top of the tower to find the information she needed.

With a steadying breath, she crossed the threshold into the grand hall that greeted all the knowledge seekers. She had often been here when she first trained to be a proper healer, but aside from the Healing wing, the Alchemy and Matter Transformation, she had never tried to access any other part of the tower.

She walked up to the front desk, where the entity of the tower stood. Despite first appearances, she wasn't an old stuffy librarian. Her true nature was closer to that of her guardian, Sama, only this one was far more powerful and unbound by the rules that forbid regular guardians from harming the embodied. If anyone tried to force their entry into the tower or broke the rules, this guardian could turn them into a pile of ash and she'd have no qualms about it. All who visited had to obey her, no matter how powerful or ancient they were.

She cleared her throat and approached the entity, who was already studying her over the thick rim of her glasses.

"State the reason for your visit," the librarian demanded.

"I seek information regarding the Conjunctions."

"Basic history is on level four. Access granted."

"I'm looking for something more practical." The librarian quirked an eyebrow, so she continued. "I wish to know how to conduct a successful merger of worlds."

"I see. And what is your relation to this topic? I see you are neither a member of the Mage Coven nor the Warlock Coven."

"No, I am not. But I believe I've come across one whose destiny will lead her on this path and I mean to ensure her success."

"Noble, but useless," the librarian replied without affect. "Access denied."

"But…"

"To be granted access to that level, you need to be a vetted member of the Mage or Warlock Coven."

"I only…"

The librarian cut her off again. "Access denied, I said."

Just as she was preparing for another attempt to explain the importance of acquiring this information, Tezzi descended the spiralling staircase that led to the upper floors. He made his way to her and pulled her aside.

"Word of advice, don't push her. She gets testy and you're liable to lose a limb."

She huffed and made to pull away from him and return to the librarian, disregarding his advice. His fingers clenched on her arm and held her back.

"I could get the information for you if you really need it that bad," he offered with a cunning smile.

She glanced down at the hand holding her in place, then back at his face. "And I suppose you'll want something in return." She sighed. It wasn't the first time she dealt with him and nothing he offered was free. "What will it be this time? Another stack of enchantments?"

He chuckled. "Oh, that would be a trifle for such a huge ask. No, I'll need something considerably more."

"Meaning?"

"I need your assistance with an experiment of mine. Nothing short of it will cut it. Not for this."

Even the word experiment sent shivers through her. No, she won't be anyone's lab rat ever again.

"No thanks," she said, then pulled out of his grip. "I'd rather try to get vetted by the Coven of Mages."

That just drew laughter from him. "My dear girl, you're delusional if you think you'll be vetted anytime this century. It takes decades for the most talented to rise to that position, and centuries for the modestly gifted who are persistent." He rubbed his chin with a sly smile. "How old is your friend who has the special destiny?"

"Why?" she asked with narrowed eyes.

"So I can tell you how long you have at your disposal to help them, because, if you didn't know, when they come of age is when worlds will collide around them."

"Then I have time."

She turned and walked out of the building and away from him, her next stop: the admission office for aspiring mages.

The Mage Coven was in the same quarter of the city. The outside of the building was the same as all the rest - metal and glass. But the inside of it was a different story. It felt like walking into a 15th century Earth mixed in with Alice in Wonderland. The floor was covered in ice, while the ceiling burned like the sun. Branches jutted out of from between the book-lined shelves covering all the walls, and on them hung various animals ranging from your everyday tabby to your lemurs, lizards and gremlins. The smell inside was just as odd as the image associated with it: ozone, dust, ink and animal excrements. Delightful.

She had to take care of where she stepped on her way to the reception desk where a bespectacled, balding man was chiding a small gremlin for toppling over a tower of books. The creature tucked its tail between its legs and lowered its floppy ears as it was chastised.

"Now clean this up at once or I'll cast a spell on you that'll give you a bum rash and shorten your limbs for the next day! That'll teach you a lesson to play in my shop!"

Criss snorted as she imagined the comical outcome of the threat. The wizard at the desk heard her suppressed laughter and turned to appraise her with a critical look.

"And what do you want?" he asked while arranging vials of substances in neat rows on his not-so-neat desk.

"I wish to undergo the process needed to become a vetted member of your Circle."

"I see." His eyes gave her a once-over. "Age and previous experience?"

"Thirty-seven. Currently, I'm an end-tier light healer, but I've dabbled with other forms of magic in the past. Nothing formal, though."

"Crank!" he hollered, and the little gremlin scampered over in a rush. "Fetch me the admissions log," he told the creature, then turned back to her. "Your certification as a healer, although impressive for your young age, won't be much use to you here." The gremlin returned carrying a large tome over which he could barely see. The wizard took it from him and flipped the pages to reach the end. He asked for her name and scribbled it down, then a drop of her blood to dot the page next to it. The red blotch turned bright red, sparkled, and disappeared into the page.

"Seems you are in luck. You have been accepted," the wizard said.

"Really? That's all it took?" she wondered aloud at how easy it had been.

"Don't get ahead of yourself. You have been accepted to take the first test, but currently, no mentor is available to tutor you. You'll have to wait until one becomes free or study on your own. Though, I would advise against the latter."

"Alright, and when do you think there'll be a tutor available?"

"Oh, not long. A year or two. Maybe three if you're unlucky."

"A year or two?" Her eyes widened as the information sunk in. "I can't wait that long. I'll have to manage without one for now. What's the first task?"

The wizard shrugged. "Suit yourself," he said as he rummaged through a paper-filled drawer, looking for something. After a few minutes of him still fishing through the documents, he half-mumbled a spell, and a booklet flew out of the depths of the pile. "This is the curriculum for the first level. It details the quality of the item you must procure."

She took the booklet and skimmed over it. Her first task was to collect and bring back the essence of a dying star. "There are no instructions in this," she remarked. "Is there a list of relevant works I can study to prepare?"

"Probably, but I wouldn't know. That's for a mentor to tell you, depending on your particular predilection for one magic or another. I used 'Pocket Dangers of Abnormal Permutations', but you could try 'Forgotten Defensive Arts'."

She scratched at her nape and sighed. "Thanks."

She left the Coven and returned to the Eternal Spire. This time, she aimed to study for the task ahead and the librarian guided her to the tenth floor where the two tomes the wizard mentioned could be found, along with a slew of treatises on imbuing objects with magic.

Hours upon hours she poured over the books, fighting to memorize the various spells and finger movements required. Finally, when she considered that she had mastered them enough, she headed for the nearest magic tools shop to purchase a few containers suitable for the task. She took the glass jars to her apartment and prepared to create a safety anchor. Going anywhere near a dying star was nothing short of suicidal, but this special type of anchor would pull her back instantly the moment her life was in danger.

With a wave of her hand, she encased herself into a shielding bubble and stepped through the shimmering portal.

On the other side, a world boiled under her feet, heated by the rapidly expanding sun. She had only moments to draw energy from the dying star.

Holding out the container, she shouted the spell and gestured the proper motions with her free hand, guiding the essence into the bottle. Thin strands of energy curled around it, then seeped into it without a sound. All this time, the heat around her was growing so hot that she could feel the blaze even through the shield. She huffed and struggled to breathe.

That moment of distraction was enough to lose control of the spell, and the container blew up in her face.

Out of instinct, she turned her cheek from the explosion to protect her eyes. The glass fragments lodged in the side of her face, neck, and shoulder. With a shriek, her shield burst and she was pulled back into the safety of her cube.

She landed on her ass, pushed by the lingering effects of the explosion. With a groan and more than one wince, she picked herself off the floor and summoned a mirror.

Half her face was marred by cuts and multiple fragments of glass sticking out of her skin. She removed the larger glass pieces with her fingers, then conjured a pair of tweezers and set herself down on a chair in front of the mirror to pluck out the rest.

She cursed as she picked shard after shard. It had been a long time since she had failed so spectacularly at anything. She mulled over what she could have done better. Perhaps she rushed, thinking that the first task couldn't be as difficult as it seemed. The movements needed more practice, or her voice hadn't been steady enough during the spell. Or perhaps she just wasn't meant for such things. She shook her head, refusing to admit defeat.

There was no way for her to learn this in one day, so she was better off returning to the Continent for the evening to get some sleep. Perhaps Geralt and Ciri returned while she was away. So, with that thought, she finished repairing the damage to her face and removed the bloodstains from her clothes before returning to Drahim Castle and then to Novigrad.


To her disappointment, there was nothing new happening at the Chameleon. The same crowd of patrons cluttered around the stage, demanding the local artist play something lively to go with their drinks.

At one of the tables in the back, sat Yennefer and Margarita, both cloaked with their hoods drawn close to their faces. They were enjoying their dinner and probably making plans. She had no idea. Ever since Yennefer told her she needed a diamond for her megascope, the sorceress hadn't come to see her. Despite this, Criss knew her research wasn't going well. Whenever Criss passed by her door, she heard the two sorceresses talking to each other, and more often than not, their voices denoted annoyance or plain anger. She refrained from listening in or offering her help. Yennefer had made it clear that it was unwanted, and she had no intention of imposing it upon her until she asked, so she went up the stairs directly to her room.


After about two days of being kept in the dark, Ciri had deigned to visit his room in the evening to explain that she needed to iron out the specifics of the agreement with Emhyr - she still refused to call him father, to the emperor's annoyance and his protests got him no closer to her heart.

"I'm sorry. I know you want to be on your way to Novigrad, but if I don't discuss my terms and conditions now, I might leave myself to be blindsided later," she told him.

So he had to be patient and wait for her business to be concluded. And so, the days gathered until a week had passed and he was still in Vizima.

Geralt was now bored out of his mind, pacing the corridors of the fortress like a cat in a cage. He tried to take out some of his pent up frustration on a training dummy and then on the general himself, as he had offered to spar with him.

"How are the negotiations going?" Geralt asked while they were exchanging friendly blows with wooden swords. He was hoping for some reassuring information that the wait was coming to an end.

"The young empress is still learning about the inner workings of the empire, but they're going well from what I've been told," the general said while parrying a light strike from the witcher.

"You've been told? I thought you'd be a part of the process."

Geralt saw an opening in the general's guard and struck, hitting his mark.

"Yes, but just a part. No one but the emperor knows how the entire machine works. We're but advisors and we only have our small slice of competence."

The general dealt a series of three rapid blows, changing the angle of the sword each time, trying to break through Geralt's defences. The witcher was, of course, much faster and caught each strike on his blade.

"And what are the general sentiments from those who are aware of the upcoming change?"

"Meaning?"

"Is there any chance the emperor's abdication could cause unrest or dissent among the nobles?"

Morvran hummed and lunged at Geralt, but hit only air; the witcher had twisted to the side and counterattacked, swinging his blade over the general's back, causing him to stumble forward.

"If you're worried someone might make an attempt on her life, I doubt you have anything to be concerned with. His Imperial Majesty has dealt with the traitors in his ranks. Whatever opposition remains, it's toothless."

"I admit it's a relief."

"Fearing you'd have to shadow her to keep her safe?"

"I'd never fear that. I've followed her to the ends of the world once before. But court intrigue never suited me. Her mother would be a far better choice to help her wade through the muck of politics."

Morvran let out a small chuckle as they kept on duelling.

"A man who knows and admits his weakness. Refreshing."

"A man who doesn't is a fool."

"Anyway, it shouldn't take more than another week before everything is ironed out," the general said as he lunged forward in an attack.

"A week?" Geralt repeated almost automatically, while he twisted to the side to avoid the hit.

It was far longer than he expected, but he couldn't well leave without Ciri or chide her for her thoroughness. After all, this was partly his doing. But he had to find something else more interesting to do for the rest of their stay. Perhaps a trip to the noticeboard outside the castle gate would be a welcome change. He hadn't taken a witcher contract in ages and he missed the chase it brought.


The next day, Criss awoke with new resolve. She needed to continue her research, to practice the spell she needed to master to pass the first stage of her Mage trial as fast as possible.

Grabbing her sketchpad and a satchel containing a few gems, she left the Chameleon.

This time, she spent all her time in the Eternal Spire, pouring over tomes, practicing the spell using a less potent substance, gathering up her courage for another voyage, only returning in the evening to the Continent and Novigrad.

Each day she returned to Idris and the Eternal Spire, from time to time attempting a new foray on a world suited for the test, each time failing miserably and ending up angry at her incompetence. Her only solace was that every so often she'd go to Vilmerius Hospital to help the doctor and deliver more potions.

This became her new routine and days turned into a week, and she continued to bury herself in her research. Sinking into work was a tried-and-true way for her to cope with anything, it made the days pass by faster and Geralt's absence less acute, but it also gave her hope that she might actually pass the test sooner rather than later.


One day, as she was leaving her room, rearranging the sketchpad under her arm when a red-haired tornado bumped into her, sending her into the wall across the corridor.

"Watch where you're going!" Criss protested as her shoulder hit the wall.

"Shit, sorry!" a girlish voice apologized.

"Since you already bumped into each other, seems I should introduce the two of you," Yennefer's voice came from behind the redhead. She was standing in front of the open door to her room, with Margarita a few steps behind her.

Criss shot a glance over at the woman who knocked into her and it was enough to figure out who she was. After all, her face was plastered all over the city, reward and all.

"Come inside," Yennefer invited the both of them. "Wouldn't do to discuss this in the corridor."

They walked past her into the room and shut the door. Yennefer lifted the arms and chanted a spell. A faint glow swept across the walls, windows, and door.

"I've sealed the room so now we can chat properly," Yennefer said. "This is my old friend..."

"Triss Merrigold," Criss finished her sentence. "Pleasure to meet you. I'm Christine Thompson, but my friends call me Criss..." She extended a hand and Triss shook it firmly.

"She's also Geralt's newest jilted lover," Yennefer added with a wry smile and Criss simply rolled her eyes.

"Yenna!" Margarita chided.

"I see you still haven't found your manners," Criss quipped.

"Oh, relax!" Yennefer clasped her shoulder, grinning. "I'm only teasing. You should see your face when someone says his name. It's positively adorable. Reminds me of Fringilla and her endless blushing." She laughed without malice, then turned to Triss and continued her presentation. "Aside from that small tidbit, she's also a sorceress."

"Trustworthy?" Triss asked with a raised eyebrow, and Yen nodded in response. "Fine, then I can tell you all that Phillipa's trail has led me back to Novigrad and after further inquiry, I've learned a most curious fact. She had been under your noses for the better part of this year."

"She has?" Yennefer and Margarita asked in unison.

"Mhm," Triss nodded. "She was right here at the Chameleon, stuck in a cage as Zoltan's pet owl."

"Was?" Yennefer asked with narrowed eyes.

"He lost her in a card game a few weeks ago. Played the wrong bunch, and they fleeced him of everything he had, then suggested they play for the owl. And naturally, he couldn't pass up the opportunity of a rematch."

"And here I thought Zoltan was a notch above the bard in intellect," Yennefer huffed. "Have you found where she is now?"

"Yes, that fountain next to the Passiflora finally proved useful for something other than bums washing their feet in it. With a little hydromancy, I learned that she's at the bathhouse with Djikstra, but I've no idea what state she's in. I doubt he's been kind to her or that he was dumb enough to remove the dimeritium band from around her leg or the building would've been levelled by now."

"We need to retrieve her before either of them does something stupid," Margarita chimed in.

"Let me drop this in my room and I'll join you," Criss said, pointing at the sketchbook she still held.

"I think this time it's better if only Triss and I go. After so much time trapped inside that shape, she must be going mad. It's very possible she won't react well to unfamiliar faces. You and Margarita can wait here. We'll bring Phillipa back."

The door closed behind them and Criss sat on the bed next to Margarita.

"I understand why they didn't want me to come along, but why did she leave you behind?" Criss asked.

"Because I'm not well enough to be of any help."

Criss frowned at the answer and looked over the sorceress, wondering if there was something left unhealed by mistake. She turned over her hands, examining her fingers in particular. Her fingernails had partially grown back, but it would be at least another month until all traces of her torture disappeared. Margarita winced and made to pull back.

"Any lingering pain or discomfort?" Criss asked her.

"None at all. Not physical anyway." Her eyes pinned the floorboards as she curled her hands into fists at her side. "I just can't bear to look at them. It turns my stomach. I can't even work magic because of it. Each time I try, I see them and I remember how it felt and I can't hold on to the power any longer." She shook her head in disappointment. "Yenna freed me to help, but I'm useless. Damaged."

Criss wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into her side.

"I know that right now it feels like you're at the bottom of a dark pit with no way to climb out. It seems hopeless, unsurmountable. But it's not. You can still get out."

"How can I? I have nothing left. Not my dignity, not my sanity, not my pride, not my magic. They took it all in that dungeon, day after day."

Criss's hands cupped Margarita's cheeks, and she looked into her clear green eyes that welled up with sorrowful tears. It was a familiar pain.

"You can't change what happened to you, but you can shape your future. Don't let them take that from you." She arranged a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Take back what they stole."

The sorceress shook her head and wiped her eyes.

"Yenna was tortured by Vilgefortz for months, Ciri was drugged and made to fight in arenas, treated like an animal. Far worse has happened to others, and they survived. I have no right to complain when they are alive and well."

Criss sighed. "Don't compare your hurt to others. You've got a right to feel as you do. This is only about you, not them. Each carries their own burden, and it's fine to bend under its weight from time to time. It doesn't make you weak, it makes you human."

The sorceress drew a deep breath, and her mouth trembled. Criss pulled her into her side once again and tears streamed down Margarita's face and onto Criss's shirt. She let out all the pent-up feelings that troubled her with hiccups and sobs until her breathing eased, the tears dried and she fell silent. Finally, she lifted her head and wiped her red eyes.

Criss took one of her hands and held it palm up.

"Try to draw on your power now," she instructed. The sorceress had eased her soul and now she needed to gain her confidence back.

Margarita looked down at her hand and shook her head. "I can't. I'm afraid of what another failure will do to me."

Criss squeezed her shoulder. "Trust me," she cooed, her voice echoing softly.

The sorceress blinked slowly, then settled herself with a few deep breaths and drew on the power around them. The air surrounding them crackled with static. Slowly, the force gathered into her hand at her command, but a glance at a half-grown fingernail made her waver and the energy staggered. Criss let her own power flow through the sorceress for a mere moment, just enough to help calm her, then she let go and Margarita continued to build the small crystalline sphere in her hand. It held steady and Criss removed her hands from her completely. The sorceress was now holding her own, looking at the mass of energy with a smile.

"I did it." She looked up at Criss incredulously.

"You did." She smiled. "They didn't take your magic. They can never take it."


It was almost evening by the time the door to the room opened again. Margarita had fallen asleep, exhausted from the emotional toll the afternoon had on her, while Criss sat at a desk similar to her own and looked out the window towards the city.

Through the door frame stepped an irritated Yennefer followed by another dark-haired sorceress with a blindfold tied around her eyes; Criss assumed she was the missing Phillipa. Triss and Dandelion walked behind them. They were all so loud that she could hear them before they made it to the room and all the commotion woke Margarita from her sleep.

"You should have just let me kill the big oaf! The gall on him to keep me in a cage, knowing who I was!"

"You did have him accused of murder and run out of the kingdom. So I can see why he'd want you in a cage, at least for a little while," Triss replied.

"He fed me mice! Mice! For two full weeks! I can still feel the taste!"

"Be happy he fed you at all. And he did let you out... eventually," Yennefer commented. "If I were him, I'd have kept you as a pet in that gilded birdcage."

"Then I suppose I should be thankful you were not him," Phillipa huffed.

"Yes, you should be thankful for that and for us having the patience to deal with you after you set that idiotic troll and your elemental on us. Not to mention that we had to chase you through those drowner infested sewers," Yennefer huffed. "I swear, if I never see or smell a drowner again, it'll be too soon."

"You can hardly blame me for that! I simply didn't recognize either of you."

"You still remembered your hate for Djikstra well enough," Triss said under her breath.

"I still maintain that we should have killed him, not made a deal with him. We can deal with the king ourselves, without his help."

"He wants Radovid dead, so do we. He can be a powerful ally and we need this persecution to end. I'm sick of trudging through slime each time I need to get into Novigrad or Oxenfurt. This is a marriage of convenience. You don't have to permanently sleep in his bed," Yennefer said.

"And speaking of beds," Dandelion said from behind them all. "I assume you'd be wanting yet another room."

"Make it two," said Phillipa. "I don't like to share."

The bard smiled, but his eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid I have just one. Besides, with all the inn rooms occupied by unpaying sorceresses wanted by the witch hunters, I'm liable to end up either broke or on a pyre in Hierarch's Square."

"Be thankful that I'm not turning you into a toad, then the pyres would be the last of your concerns," Phillipa snapped at him.

"You know, normal people would say thank you, not threaten their host. Are bad manners a skill they teach you at Aretuza?"

Phillipa turned towards him with a scowl and finger pointing menacingly at him. The bard raised his hands in surrender and backed out of the room, mumbling something about having a thankless job and promising to return with a key to a room.

Next, Phillipa turned back to the rest of them and finally noticed Criss, who was still sitting at the desk, observing her with calm.

"And who's this?"

"That's the healer I told you about," Yennefer replied, then turned to Criss. "I suggested that you might be able to help her regain her sight."

Before Criss could utter a word, Phillipa cut in. "Nonsense! I'm doing perfectly fine on my own and besides, I've already regained my sight. The eyes themselves are only a matter of esthetics." She waved her hand in dismissal. "Now, if she could kindly leave. We have important and private matters to discuss."

"Come Phillipa, there are so few of us now, we must stick together. We can't start alienating even our own," Margarita intervened.

"In case you misunderstood, this is Lodge business. All its members have been vetted and have proven their loyalty to our cause over and over again. A foreigner has no business meddling in our affairs or those of the Continent," Phillipa shot back.

"Then perhaps we should take a vote to include her as the newest member of the Lodge. After all, we have at least one vacancy since Sile's death," Yennefer chimed in.

Criss stood and spoke through gritted teeth, containing her outrage with Phillipa's haughty behaviour.

"There's no need to take any vote. I refuse to play any part in your games and I have no interest in your politics. My only care here is Ciri's wellbeing and nothing else, so I'll leave you all to your schemes."

She pushed past them and towards the door. Yennefer followed her and caught her just outside the door.

"You shouldn't be so quick to dismiss her. Ciri's place in this world is deeply entrenched in the politics of the Continent. You'd do well to learn how both can be shaped."

Criss glanced past her at Phillipa and nodded. "You're right, but that's not the kind of shaping Ciri needs."

She turned and headed back to her room, her thoughts, and her research.