“You know what the common folk are like, they love gossip. They see a woman with a man and at once turn it into an affair. The Witcher, I admit, visited me quite often. And indeed, we were seen together in town. But, I repeat, it only concerned business.”

Yennefer put down her goblet, rested her elbows on the table and put her fingertips together, creating a steeple. And looked the red-haired sorceress in the eyes.

“Primo,” Lytta coughed slightly, but didn’t look down, “I’ve never done anything like that to a close friend. Secundo, your Witcher wasn’t interested in me at all.”

“Wasn’t he?” Yennefer raised her eyebrows. “Indeed? How can that be explained?”

“Perhaps mature women have stopped interesting him? Regardless of their current looks. Perhaps he prefers the genuinely young? Mozaïk! Come here please. Just look, Yennefer. Youth in bloom. And innocence. Until recently.”

“She?” said Yennefer, irritated. “He with her? With your pupil?”

“Well, Mozaïk. Come closer. Tell us about your amorous adventure. We’re curious to listen. We love affairs. Stories about unhappy love. The unhappier, the better.”

“Madame Lytta…” The girl, rather than blushing, paled like a corpse. “Please… You’ve already punished me for it, after all… How many times can I be punished for the same offence. Don’t make me—”

“Tell us!”

“Let her be, Coral,” said Yennefer, waving a hand. “Don’t torment her. Furthermore, I’m not at all curious.”

“I surely don’t believe that,” said Lytta Neyd, smiling spitefully. “But very well, I’ll forgive the girl, indeed I’ve already punished her, forgiven her and allowed her to continue her studies. And her mumbled confessions have stopped entertaining me. To summarise: she became infatuated with the Witcher and ran away with him. And he—once he’d become bored with her—simply abandoned her. She woke up alone one morning. All he left were cooled sheets and not a single trace. He left because he had to. He vanished into thin air. Gone with the wind.”

Although it seemed impossible, Mozaïk paled even more. Her hands trembled.

“He left some flowers,” said Yennefer softly. “A little nosegay of flowers. Right?”

Mozaïk raised her head. But didn’t answer.

“Flowers and a letter,” repeated Yennefer.

Mozaïk said nothing. But the colour slowly began to return to her cheeks.

“A letter,” said Lytta Neyd, looking closely at the girl. “You didn’t tell me about a letter. You didn’t mention one.”

Mozaïk pursed her lips.

“So that’s why,” Lytta finished, apparently calmly. “So that’s why you returned, although you could expect a stiff punishment, much stiffer than you consequently received. He ordered you to return. Were it not for that you wouldn’t have.”