A little while later, they were back at the Chameleon. The frantic enthusiasm for the upcoming festivities hadn't died down, but other than that, nothing of note had happened. Some members of the Lodge were seated at a large table. Yennefer was among them, leaning on a dark-haired man with a respectable look about him. It was hard to imagine that he was the one who had stirred Yen into a screaming frenzy earlier that day.

"Is that Istredd?" Criss asked.

"Mhm."

"Should we go over? Say hello or something?"

He shrugged. "If you want."

"Wouldn't it be rude not to?"

Before anything more could be said, Yen waved them over and ended the debate.

"Join us for dinner, won't you?" she said, pointing at the empty seats across from them. "Philippa has been searching for you. She'll be glad to see you've returned."

"We already ate at the Passiflora," Geralt replied.

"The Passiflora? Really, Geralt? That's where you took her? You're still as classy as ever."

"You know me. I could never match your class. It takes a woman of true finesse to move to the next room over and read my mind to see if I'm jealous when she screams her new lover's name."

Her slender jaw clenched and a shadow of a smile passed over Geralt's lips.

"Hope you enjoyed what you saw," he continued, uncaring that Yen might set him aflame. "You're not even a secondary character in my thoughts these days."

Her pale complexion turned pink as Margarita snorted a laugh. It wasn't often that someone had the gall to embarrass her in public and if her violet eyes could shoot lightning, he'd be a smoking pile of ash.

"You can save your distasteful perversions for... others," she said, shooting Criss a cutting glance.

"Oh, I intend to! Believe me. And maybe you wouldn't mind moving your room further away from ours. Your shrill voice spoils the mood."

"You insolent..." Yennefer began, her voice pitching slightly higher than usual.

Istredd wrapped an arm around Yen's shoulders and squeezed, catching her eye with a conspiratorial look before turning to Geralt.

"You two can stop posturing now," Istredd said, moving to Yen again. "You've convinced me that there's no love lost between you."

"You did that for his benefit?" Geralt asked with raised eyebrows.

Some part of him was involuntarily impressed with the sway Istredd had over Yen. He could have never gotten her to do anything for him, let alone put on a show to demonstrate her faithfulness - probably because she was never all that faithful, to begin with.

"Can you blame me for my mistrust?" Istredd replied with a shrug. "After the decades you two spent chasing each other, it was hard to believe that this was more than a temporary split."

"It's as permanent as can be." He turned to Yen again, trying to keep his temper in check and not stir her anew. "You said Philippa was looking for me. Any idea what that's about?"

"Something about returning property to its rightful owner."

"If she means the late king's ring, I don't have it. She can take it up with Radovid if she wants it back."

"I believe she meant..." Yennefer stopped, looking over Geralt's shoulder. "Seems I no longer have to play intermediary."

He turned to see Philippa carrying his missing scabbard.

"You two are so loud when you argue, I could hear your thoughts from upstairs. It's really unbecoming for a sorceress of your stature Yennefer." Yen turned pink once more, but Philippa's attention had already moved to Geralt. "I believe this is yours," she said, handing the scabbard back to him.

"Thanks. Didn't think I'd see this again."

"That doppler who stole your likeness handed it back to me."

"So your gargoyles didn't kill him after all."

"No, my spell wasn't specific enough regarding that part, but it did its job otherwise. Fifty of Radovid's best lie dead in the tunnels. I'm only sorry I missed all the fun in Elector's Square."

"I wonder why the doppler bothered to find you. He could have just taken off," Geralt wondered aloud.

"Isn't it obvious? I presume he meant to thank you for giving him the perfect opportunity to escape. Radovid would have imprisoned him again once he returned."

"Probably," Geralt hummed with his eyes on his scabbard while Philippa moved past him and sat at the table.

"I've had word from Keira today," Margarita told her. "She was meaning to go south after leaving Oxenfurt, but now she intends to pass through Novigrad."

"How like her to come in time for the feast but not the battle," Philippa commented. "Last I spoke to her, she was too busy to help out."

"Did she say if she's coming alone?" Geralt asked.

"Didn't say."

His shoulders slumped and Criss gave him a suspicious side look. It was easy to guess what she thought and her worries weren't entirely unfounded.


"It's not what you think," he said, pulling her aside.

"You mean Keira isn't another one of your former conquests?" she asked with a cocked eyebrow.

"She's..." he sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah, I slept with her, but it was only once and that's not why..."

His eyes drifted towards the inn door and his whole face lit up. She followed his gaze to see it fixed on a blonde standing in the doorway and her heart sank. The woman looked around the room, gathering her blue skirts around her curvy frame. She swayed and the red beads around her neck jiggled, settling over her deep cleavage. Criss didn't think of herself as the jealous type, but the thought that a past love had put that look of joy on Geralt's face hurt like a dagger to the heart.

"Lambert!" Geralt called, striding towards the door.

"Lambert?" Criss repeated, frozen in place.

By the time she was jogged out of her stupor, the witcher was already at the door, hugging the daylights out of the man who was accompanying the blonde. Criss had been so focused on the woman that she hadn't even noticed the man beside her, although his witcher armour should have stood out to her.

"Can you two act like bears some other place?" the blonde said annoyed. "You're blocking the door."

"Don't be such a sourpuss, Keira. Last time I saw this big idiot he wasn't breathing and now..." Lambert waved a hand in front of his face. "Now his breath smells like a whorehouse," he ended with a laugh.

Keira rolled her eyes and shook her head, heading for the rest of the Lodge members and hugging Margarita before sitting next to her.

"You're one to talk? Your breath smells like ass and what's with your face?" Geralt asked, giving him a friendly shove.

Geralt grabbed Lambert by the chin and turned his head to the side to reveal a scar that covered a quarter of his face.

"You trying to outdo Eskel in the facial scars department?"

"Leave off, you prick." Lambert swatted his hand away. "No need to make fun of me. I got enough on my plate as it is," he said, following Keira.

"No seriously, Lambert. Who or what gave you that scar? It looks fresh, but there's no bleeding and the edges... Are those burns?"

"It's magical! Alright?" Lambert turned to his witcher brother, this time tilting his head towards the light to show him the scar himself. "Take a closer look."

Geralt frowned as his eyes narrowed and focused, then his look turned to one of surprise.

"It looks like letters. GOD? If I didn't know you any better I'd say you've become a man of faith."

"Hah hah, asshole," Lambert replied seating himself next to Keira. "Didn't know your near-death experience turned you into a comedian, but you're a shit one at that and a crap friend."

"Shit, Lambert. Didn't know you'd take it so seriously."

"Wouldn't you, if it were your face, pretty boy?"

Geralt hummed and turned to Criss with a dour look.

"Sorry, love. This was what I was trying to tell you. Lambert was travelling with Keira and... You mind having a look? Maybe you can help him out." He turned to Lambert. "Maybe he'll be less of a prick with that brand off his face."

She nodded and reached out for him, but he pulled away from her touch.

"Who the fuck are you? Aside from Geralt's latest piece of tail. You both reek of each other."

"Don't be a dick. Her name's Criss and she's a healer. Let her have a look."

"It's no use. Keira already tried. This shit won't come off."

"It won't kill you to try one more healer. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Fine," Lambert sighed. "But if she can't remove it, you'll buy me a bottle of spirit."

"Fine, if buying you off is what it takes."

She gently ran her fingers over the outline of the scar, aware that most mages at the table had their eyes on her. Touching it was unpleasant. Dark magic seeped out of the marking, but worse than that, there was a dark tether tying Lambert to some entity. She pulled her hand away.

"Can't remove it, can you?" he said.

"Actually..." she stopped, unsure of how much she should say in front of company.

"What?" both Geralt and Lambert asked.

She sighed. Even if they moved this to their room, Lambert's thoughts would be out in the open for every mage in the establishment.

"I can remove it, but it won't do you much good." She waved a hand to make the string visible to the witcher's eyes.

"Is that a tether?" Geralt blurted.

"Mhm. But it's not like the ones you know. This one is marked by debt and can't be dispelled until the debt has been paid or reneged. Through it, pain can be inflicted... or even death." She waved over Selise and handed her some coins. "Can you please bring us a bottle of..." She turned to Lambert. "What will it be? Dwarven spirit?"

"Yeah, that'll do."

Once Selise walked off, Lambert turned to Criss.

"I'll pay you back for the drink if you remove this crap off my face."

"Told you it won't help."

"I don't care. At least I won't walk around like cattle with a big fat brand for everyone to see."

"First tell us how you've come to get it," she said, curious of how he crossed paths with someone who could bind and mark him this way.

The barmaid brought over the bottle of spirit and Lambert poured himself a generous amount. In the span of a breath, he downed the whole glass.

"Whoa there! If you don't take it easy on that bottle, you'll be sloshed before you tell us how the fuck you ended up with that shit on your face," Geralt said, trying and failing to take the bottle from him.

"Not if I give you the short version," Lambert replied.

"Don't insult me," Geralt countered with an offended look. "I want the full detailed version."

"Fine, then settle in, 'cause it'll be a while before I'm done."

As he drew a long breath, preparing to launch into his story, all eyes were on him. Even if most were listening in out of curiosity rather than concern, other conversations died down.

"It all started with a contract gone bad," he said, shaking his head. "I should have listened to my gut, but five thousand crowns sounded too appealing to pass up."

Geralt whistled with raised eyebrows.

"Five thousand?"

"Yeah. I know! Right? Should have known it was too good to be true, but with that kind of gold I could have..." He shook his head again. "I could have done a lot."

"Can't say I blame you. If I had stumbled upon that notice, I might have taken it up myself," Geralt said. "Where was it posted?"

"The Seven Cats Inn."

"Shit, I was there only a few days ago."

"If you'd had gone a few weeks prior or if we'd have camped in the woods for one more night instead of... Eh, never mind. What's done is done. The reward was too rich to pass over so I left Keira at the inn and went a little further north to a big ass mansion. Turns out the contract giver was a dipshit by the name of Olgiert von Everec who looked a lot like a bandit I crossed paths with some odd sixty years ago. Didn't make much of it then, but... Well, I'll get to that soon enough. So, he gave me a contract to slay some giant toad in the sewers of Oxenfurt. Turns out the said toad wasn't exactly a toad. It was an Ofieri prince and I found myself headed for the gallows on one of their ships."

"Mm, which reminds me..." Geralt patted the hidden pocket on his belt and took out a ring. "Found this next to a bunch of dead Ofieris on a beach north of here. The shipwreck was your handiwork, I take it?"

"Not quite. The... man... thing, whatever the fuck he is... The one who gave me this brand caused the shipwreck. I just killed off the surviving Ofieri to get away."

"Was he a prisoner of theirs?" Geralt asked.

"Doubt it. He just appeared out of the shadows, said he could help me get off the boat, but only if I agreed to return the favour. Then he gave me this lovely reminder so I wouldn't forget my debt and said to meet him at a crossroads. Next thing I knew, the fucker disappeared and then a storm washed us ashore."

"Didn't give you his name?"

"Nah, only said he's a merchant. I learnt his name later. Gaunter fuckin' O'Dimm."

"Ga... Wait... G O D... Fuck!"

"Yeah. Fuck is well said. I'm wearing his initials on my face like I'm his bitch." He shook his head and took another swig of the bottle. "Who am I kidding? I am his bitch. Did everything he asked, but this shit is still here."

Criss frowned. "Are you sure you did everything? Because if you did, then I should be able to cut this tether and I can't."

"Yeah, that's fuckin' grammar for you."

"Grammar? Lambert... You're not making any sense," Geralt said with furrowed brows. "Did you meet him at the crossroads?"

"Sure I did. He asked me to go back to the man who gave me the contract for the toad and fulfill three wishes as his proxy."

"Like a djin," Geralt said. "Hmm, if you turn a little to the light I can really see the resemblance. Those widow's peaks are a dead giveaway."

"Yeah, and if you come a little closer," Lambert said, leaning in. "I'll show you what to rub if you want a wish."

Geralt elbowed him with a smirk and Lambert punched his shoulder in return, but a little smile flickered over his face.

"Anyway, let me tell my story, asshole." He poured himself another drink. "I was desperate to get this off my face, so I swallowed my pride and agreed. I could always kill the dipshit after I fulfilled his wishes. At least that's what I first thought. Then the dipshit challenged me to a duel, but the fucker wouldn't die."

"Some sage once said that if they're missing a head, then they're surely dead," Geralt commented with a crooked smile.

"You'd think that, wouldn't you?" Lambert said before taking another drink. "Not this fucker, tho. His whole fuckin' noggin was hanging off his shoulders, clean cut and all, the bastard takes it, puts it back into place and acts like it never happened."

If some of the mages at the table had only been marginally interested up to this point, after this they were all eyes and ears.

"Interesting..."Geralt hummed. "So what were his three wishes?"

"First one was to show his brother the time of his life, the second was to bring him a house and the third to bring him a rose."

"The first and the third seem easy enough, but I don't know about the second."

"The first one would have been easy if the brother was still alive. However, he was dead and buried long ago."

"Necromancy?" Geralt asked, eyeing Keira.

"He'd been dead for too long. I can't do anything with bones alone," she replied. "No, we did a summoning and let him possess Lambert's body for a night."

"Then you showed him just how much you could do with a bone," Lambert cut in with a grin. "Definitely had the time of his life... or death."

"And you still haven't thanked me for it," Keira shoved him with a self-satisfied grin.

"What's there to thank? You looked like you were having a good time yourself. If it hadn't been my body he was using, I might have been envious of him."

"He did make marvellous use of your witcher's stamina and I shan't lie, it felt good to receive some original compliments for once."

"You know me, I'm more the showing than the telling type," Lambert replied with a sly grin of his own.

"That you are, darling. That you are," she repeated, giving his thigh a squeeze.

"So that was the first wish," Lambert continued. "The second one involved getting him Maximilian Borsodi's house."

"Wait? We're talking the Borsodi auction house?" Geralt asked with raised eyebrows.

"The one and only."

Geralt and Yen exchanged a glance that Criss failed to understand. There was something akin to gratitude in the witcher's eyes and Yen for once looked kindly upon him. However, the moment was short-lived as their attention was drawn to Lambert's recalling of his tale.

"If you're wondering how I could bring a house to someone, you wouldn't be alone." He turned to Keira. "Sounds like an impossible task and yet it wasn't... once Keira did a little research into its history. Maybe she should tell this part."

"The Borsodi auction house was the one to sell off the von Everec estate after they accrued too much debt and Olgiert von Everec wanted revenge," Keira picked up where Lambert left off. "Maximilian Borsodi was the original owner, but once he died, it passed on to his sons – Horst and Ewald. There was a clause in his will that his sons must meet once a year to retain ownership. The paperwork pertaining to this as well as other important deeds were held in a miniature replica of the building – the Borsodi house."

Geralt whistled. "That must be worth a fortune!"

"Mhm, my thoughts exactly, so I robbed the place... Well, I tried to at least. It ended with me killing both its owners."

"That's ruthless, even for you."

"Hey, it's not what I planned. It was supposed to be an in-and-out job, quick and easy, but as my good luck would have it, I wasn't the only one trying to break into the place."

"A second thief?"

"More than one and all led by one of the Borsodi brothers." He sighed. "It was them or me so it wasn't much of a choice. Took as much as I could carry from their vault, but I didn't give anything but the miniature to Olgiert. Fucker wanted a house? He got a house!"

"So what? You kept the deeds and now you're the owner of the Borsodi estate?"

"I wish, but no. The next day, they discovered the brothers dead and the estate's lawyer enacted another clause in old Borsodi's will. If the two were to die, everything was to be donated to hospitals and clinics in Redania."

"Mm, the Vilmerius Hospital had such a recent donation," Geralt commented. "Bet Olgiert wasn't too pleased with your trick."

"Surprisingly, he didn't seem to care. He took the miniature, threw it into the nearest fire and laughed. Kind of pissed me off that he wasn't more... pissed off."

"Ah, darling, you always have such a way with words," Keira mused, rolling her eyes at the witcher's lack of eloquence.

"Anyway, so he laughed and gave me his third and final wish – to retrieve a rose from his wife. And mind you, from what Keira dug up on the von Everecs, that wife of his had been dead for decades, so the rose was no more than dust. By this point, I was already fed up with him and his impossible wishes, so I thought one rose isn't that different from another so..."

"He went to the nearest bush and plucked one," Keira said with a chuckle.

Geralt snorted a laugh. "Seriously, Lambert?"

"Hey, it was worth a shot. Didn't work though..."

"Shocker," Geralt laughed.

"So we went to the Von Everec mansion and let me tell you, I've seen some weird shit on the Path, but nothing compared to the freak show in that place. We were barely over the fence when a faceless caretaker took a shovel to us. Then a talking cat and a dog, who weren't really a cat and a dog, guided us in only for us to meet with living nightmares and live through the memories of Olgiert's insane wife."

"Everything in that place reeked of dark magic of the worst kind," Keira added. "In one of the rooms, there were traces of a demon-summoning ritual."

"Goetia?" Yen asked with narrowed eyes.

"Mhm. We witnessed it all in a ghost's memories, but the summoning failed and Olgiert couldn't bind the demon," Keira replied. "He's anything but likeable, but I almost felt sorry for his desperation."

"Fuck him and his desperation!" Lambert cursed.

"You don't think it was a little romantic what he did?"

"Romantic? Nah! He sold his soul for gold and immortality to get a woman he could no longer love."

"He did what?" Criss asked, her voice spiking a little higher.

"Sold his soul," Lambert repeated. "We read through a bunch of his letters and that's the gist of it. His wife's parents wouldn't let her marry him after the Von Everecs lost their estate, so he made a deal to get it all back, only problem is... People never word their wishes right."

Since plenty seated at that table had their share of experience with misworded wishes, a moment of silence followed his words.

"In the end, at least one good thing came of it – we put his wife's spirit to rest," Lambert continued. "She was hanging on to that damned rose and once I took it, she was able to cross over and be at peace."

"Yeah, we take what silver linings we get and call it a day," Geralt said.

"Exactly. So I took the rose and headed back to Oxenfurt to give von Everec his due and get the brand off my face. And this is where grammar comes in. That Gaunter O'Dimm creature appears out of nowhere and stops time or freezes every person in the Alchemy Inn – who the fuck knows? Anyway, he says that I'll have the brand off my face when we all meet, shake hands and thank each other for this journey or some similar nonsense. Then he promised to consider my debt settled if I bring Olgiert to Lilvani's temple tomorrow night."

"That sounds like some crap to keep you hooked indefinitely," Geralt commented.

"My thoughts exactly!"

"So that's where you were headed?"

"Mhm. Then Keira heard through the grapevine what happened to Radovid and we came here instead. She figured we could use the Lodge's help if Gaunter doesn't keep his word."

"That's some gall after not lifting a finger to help with Radovid!" Philippa said, waving an accusatory finger at Keira. "You think being a Lodge member is something you can weave in and out of at your convenience?"

"I would have..." Keira tried to counter.

"Would have, could have... I don't care! You didn't and that's that. Consider yourself a member no longer since the responsibilities that come with it are too much for you to bear."

"Isn't that a little harsh, Philippa?" Margarita asked.

"Harsh? No. This isn't a charity. It's their mess, they should clean it up."

Lambert huffed and gave Keira a gentle elbow.

"Told you they wouldn't help. This lot's too haughty to help a lowly witcher, but they're never too haughty to use one when it suits them. Pretty boy is proof of that."

She curled her fingers around his wrist and brushed her thumb over his knuckles.

"Don't worry, darling. We'll figure this out."

"There's no guarantee we will," he replied, downing another drink.

Geralt turned to Criss and no words were needed; she knew exactly what he was thinking without reading his mind. She gave him a little nudge and nodded in Lambert's direction.

"You mind if Criss and I tag along to this meeting tomorrow night?" Geralt asked with his eyes on Lambert.

"I'd like to come as well," Margarita joined in. "The Lodge as a whole might not want to help, but Keira has always been a dear friend."

Lambert looked to each one in turn, his grim visage markedly softening. He drew a breath and opened his mouth, but failed to say anything.

"What he means to say is, thank you. Your help is appreciated," Keira said on his behalf.

"Yeah, no need to get all mushy about it," Geralt said with an eye roll.

"I wasn't planning to," Lambert answered, leaning forward so he could see Criss past the other witcher's big frame. "So, story's done. Gonna help me now or what?"

"Yeah. I said I will, but we need to go up to our room. I have some stuff there."

Geralt cut her a quick glance and it was enough for him to understand that she didn't want to put on a show in front of everyone.

"Come on, let's take care of that ugly thing," he said pointing at Lambert's face. "And maybe after that, we'll see about the brand."

"Asshole," Lambert replied, giving him a shove in return, but abandoned his liqueur and got up.

They were halfway up the stairs when a messy-looking Triss rounded the next flight and met them face to face.

"Hey, Triss. Feeling any better?" Geralt asked, but his question fell on deaf ears. Her eyes were pinned on Lambert and, to their collective surprise, she threw herself around his neck.

"What the..." he said, staggering back. "What's gotten into you, Merigold?" he asked, trying to extract himself from her embrace without toppling over.

"Merigold?" she asked, taken aback by being pushed away. "You weren't so formal in Vizima. It was Triss then, usually followed by some very..."

"Hey, hey, hey!" he stopped her, casting a worried glance in Geralt's direction. "I thought we talked about this..."

"Yeah, you witchers are all alike," she replied, shoving him to the side. "One moment you're professing your love and the next you're calling it a mistake."

She headed down the stairs, not sparing them another glance and Lambert shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

"Come on, Lambert," Geralt said, placing his hand on Lambert's shoulder blade and giving him a little nudge to move him along. "Don't act all coy. I already knew you fucked her in Vizima."

"She told you?" Lambert asked, climbing the rest of the flight of stairs.

"She didn't have to. Wet footsteps from her bathtub led to the window sill and a trace of White Gull was hanging in the air. She never touches the stuff, so it had to be a witcher. There aren't many of us around, so my money was on you and when we played that drinking game, you pretty much confirmed it."

"Sorry, I kind of feel like shit about it," he said, scratching at his nape and not meeting Geralt's eyes.

"It was an eye-opener, that much I'll say, but it was for the best. Shortly after that, I ended things with her," Geralt said with a shrug and opened the door to their room.

True to witcher habits, Lambert surveyed the room in a glance, pausing on the pile of sketches and scribbles on the desk on top of which sat the dimeritium cuffs.

"Kinky," he said, turning to Criss and Geralt with a crooked smile.

"That's not..." Criss sighed. "Nevermind. Just sit on that chair and close your eyes."

"Close my eyes? Why?" His eyes narrowed as they swept over her, perhaps searching for weapons.

"I thought you said you wanted the mark off your face."

"I do. I just don't understand why I have to close my eyes. Is there anything in particular you don't want me to see?"

"Are all witchers traumatized by mages?" she asked, looking from one witcher to the other. "I thought it was only Geralt."

"I don't know why you're surprised. All of us went through a series of extensive and extremely painful magically induced mutations," Lambert answered before taking a seat. "Though I had a few less than Geralt."

"Well, I'm not mutating you and Geralt is right there, watching. Now, close your eyes and try not to punch me, because this will hurt."

He closed his eyes, but just as she reached out for him, he opened one eye.

"Lambert," Geralt chided.

"Fine... fine..." he said, closing his eyes once more.

It took more than one sweep of magic over his brand to remove it and each time she tugged on it, bile rose to her throat while Lambert grunted and gritted his teeth. By the time she was done, cold sweat coated her forehead. She swayed on her feet and ran to the nearest basin, retching the contents of her stomach.

"It's done," she said, wiping her mouth and wrestling to keep her composure.

A heavy hand swept over her shoulders, rubbing them in familiar soothing circles while a second set of steps approached.

"Hey, are you alright?" Geralt's low voice asked.

"Is she... She looks a little green around the gills..."

"I'm fine. I've just been overdoing it the past few days and it didn't help that I was going against a debt."

"Maybe you should stay back tomorrow," Geralt suggested. "Let me, Lambert, Keira and Margarita handle the Merchant of Mirrors."

Both she and Lambert gazed at him with raised eyebrows.

"What did you call him?" she asked.

"How did you know that? I never said he sold mirrors," Lambert added.

"I've come across him before. He helped me find Yen when I was in White Orchard, and when we were on our way to the Crones' Sabbath, he pointed us in the direction of a boat that would get us there."

His words sent a chill down her spine.

"You didn't..."

He shook his head. "I never struck any deal with him."

"Good." She sighed in relief and straightened herself.

"Something felt off about him each time, but it was never more than a feeling. He didn't push for anything, although he showed an unusual interest in Ciri and me. All he asked for was that I remember he helped me twice. Perhaps he was playing the long game."

"Perhaps. We'll see tomorrow night," she replied.

"You still want to come?"

"Of course. If he reneges on the deal, you're going to need a healer around."

Meanwhile, Lambert had gone up to the mirror to inspect his face.

"Hah! Good as new! Gonna have every skirt in the place lined up to dance with me!"

"Keira's not going to like the sound of that. And since when do you dance?" Geralt chided.

"Hey, I said they'll be lining up. I never said I'd dance with them," Lambert answered with a raucous laugh.

"Good, 'cause from what I heard of your story, you'd still be stuck on von Everec's first wish without Keira."

"She certainly sped things along, but I'd like to think that I'd have done just as well by myself."

"Yeah, doubt that. Last I remember you were allergic to research."

"Hey, those old tomes are dusty as fuck. You try sifting through them without sneezing once."

Geralt laughed and rolled his eyes instead of giving him an answer.

"Come on, let's get back downstairs. Getting my face back calls for a celebration and I hear a party downstairs."

Geralt turned to Criss, measuring her state in one worried glance, but the queasiness had subsided and she was already back to her normal self.

"What do you say? Feel up to it?"

She nodded with a happy smile and curled her fingers around his arm.

In the tavern below, a celebration was in full swing; Priscilla was strumming her lute, singing a bawdy tune for the dancing patrons. Through the mass of people, they spotted Ciri at the table with Yen and the rest of the mages. Next to her was a pretty redhead who fidgeted nervously glancing from one powerful sorcerer to another. They navigated the crowd to their table.

"Lambert!" Ciri squeaked, throwing her hands around his neck.

"Hey, kiddo! Whoa! Don't squeeze so hard, I still need to breathe."

She pulled back, giving him a once-over look.

"Not too shabby, old man."

"Yeah? You should have seen me half an hour ago. My face looked like a cow's backside."

"Keira told me about the brand. Shame I didn't get to see it before Criss removed it."

"Wanted to see me look a mess?"

"Maybe a little," she replied with a mischievous smile. "But it was more of a professional curiosity."

"You're going to have to settle for the hearsay and good riddance for that."

Priscilla switched tunes and Lambert's face lit up. With witcher grace, he sidestepped around Ciri and extended a hand to Keira who was already pink in the cheeks.

"Care to dance?" he asked with what could have passed for a charming smile.

Without another word, she took his hand and they both delved into the crowd of dancing pairs. Next, Ciri and her red-headed friend followed, and then even Yennefer and Istredd joined in. Criss watched the complicated footwork from the sidelines.

"Wow! That must be one popular song if it got them all to their feet!" she gushed.

"Mhm, it's actually one of Dandelion's compositions, but I think it sounds better in Priscilla's voice," Geralt answered. "But don't tell him I said that," he added with a slight smile.

"I won't. He gets so gloomy when his feelings are hurt. It brings the whole place down, really."

Ciri twirled her smiling friend and waved them over.

"What do you say? Should we join them?" Geralt asked.

"I'm not sure..." she wavered.

"You don't feel up to it?" he asked, concern seeping into his words.

"It's not that. I'm just afraid I'll trip over my feet... or yours."

He laughed. "Weren't you the one who said dancing was easy? Just a game of lead and follow?"

"Our dances – yes. This? Not so much!"

"Well... If we're to attend the royal wedding, you might have to learn a dance or two."

"Somehow I doubt this is the kind of song they play at a royal anything."

"You'd be surprised what a king would dance to once he's imbibed enough alcohol. Come on, I'll show you the steps," he said, offering his hand.

"Oh, I might as well," she replied, but not without an over-dramatic sigh.

He led her to the edge of the dancing area and bowed before her.

"You're supposed to curtsy," he said, seeing that she wasn't moving.

"Oh! Like this?" she asked, doing her world's version of a curtsy.

"Close enough. Now we meet in the middle and touch our right palms together. Good. Turn right with me. Good. Switch sides and turn again. Now take my hand and we dance shoulder to shoulder facing the same way. It's like a step and a hop rolled into one and we do this three times, then we kick to the right side with the left leg –"

"Right side, left leg... Shit, Geralt. I'm totally failing at this," she said, trying to follow his steps, but her eyes kept drifting up to his face to see if he was laughing at her.

"Don't worry, you're doing fine. Kick to the left side with the right leg –"

She stared a little too long into his amber eyes instead of paying attention to what she was doing and the result was a kick to the witcher's shin.

"Crap! I kicked you! Sorry!"

To his credit, he didn't even wince, instead smiled and steadied her.

"Did you? I didn't feel a thing," he said giving her hand a small squeeze. "Now we do the same thing, going backwards. Again three steps until we get back to where we started from." He let go of her hand. "Twirl around." He did a little turn himself.

"For the love of all that is holy! Even that looks manly when you do it," she laughed.

"I'll take that as a compliment," he replied, smiling. "Now give me your hand and we repeat everything we did before. Three steps forward, kicks each side, three steps back. Now just stand there."

With his hands on his hips, he circled her, doing the same hop step before taking her hand again. They went forward and back once more.

"Now you go around me as I did before. Perfect. Take my hand. We do the same again, but at the end we turn together, kicking as we go."

"Oh, no! I'm going to screw this up," she said, panicking once more.

"You're not. Just relax. It's you and me and no one else."

His voice cooed so pleasantly that it dispelled all worries; the crowd faded to the background, the music dimmed and her eyes were set only on his as they turned. Before she knew it, it was over. He bowed, bringing her hand to his lips, causing her heart to stutter and almost forget to curtsy at the end.

"You're a natural," he said.

"And you're a very bad liar, Geralt. I'm going to need to practice a lot before the wedding."

They took a seat at the table and soon Ciri and her friend returned as well.

"Hah! I never thought I'd see you do a wedding dance! Or that she'd be the one tripping over her feet!" Ciri laughed, slapping Geralt's shoulder.

He raised an eyebrow in warning and gave her a minuscule nudge in return, probably thinking that Criss wouldn't notice.

"I'm just teasing, you did fine," she said, after clearing her throat. "But I can show you a few more moves than this old man." She held out her hand. "Want to give it a try?"

"Sure, why not? I've already embarrassed myself. How much worse can it get?"

Ciri took her further away from the group, almost clear across the room. They began their own dance with a curtsy.

"You know, he really doesn't dance. Like ever!" Ciri said as they took the first tentative steps. "You bring out a side of him that's -"

"- playful?"

"- Happy," Ciri continued. "As much as I adore my mother, I don't think they've ever spent more than a couple of days without some minor argument turning into a shouting match that ended with one of them storming off."

"I'm sor..." Criss attempted to apologize but didn't get to finish her sentence.

"Don't be. I'm glad to see them both happy, even if it's not with each other. They both deserve to choose their own path and love."

"Speaking of which... You didn't introduce us to your lovely friend. What's her name?"

"Oh, Bea," Ciri replied with a sigh. "Yes, I suppose I should have, even though there's not much point to it."

"Why not? I wasn't aware there's a moratorium on same-sex relationships."

"There isn't... unless you're Empress and you're expected to marry the son of a prominent Nilfgaardian family to appease the tensions in the Empire."

"And it's something you can't get out of? I'm sure once you're Empress you could..."

"No, I can't. This is the one thing Emhyr wouldn't budge on. That marriage is a deal–breaker for the nobles and the main reason the Emperor wants to abdicate. He was the one who was supposed to marry into that family, but when he married the fake Cirilla instead, he almost toppled the already fragile balance in an Empire stressed by an ongoing war they weren't winning."

"Sorry," Criss said, at a loss for better words to convey the sadness she felt at knowing Ciri's path had been chosen for her; her whole life arranged for the benefit of others.

"Don't be. I plan to milk every bit of joy until the time comes for me to take the throne."