“It was a bit hairy, wasn’t it? Evenings in roadside inns can be boring, today it was interesting. At a certain moment, I even began to be afraid. But, it seems to me, wasn’t it just a male competition? A testosterone-fuelled duel? Or mutual comparison of whose is longer? There wasn’t really a threat?”

“No, there wasn’t,” he lied. “Mainly thanks to the swords I recovered because of you. Thank you for them. But I’m racking my brains trying to figure out how they ended up in your possession.”

“It was meant to remain a secret,” she explained freely. “I was charged with handing over the swords noiselessly and secretly and then vanishing. But circumstances suddenly changed. I had to give you the swords openly, with upraised visor, so to speak, because the situation demanded it. It would be impolite to decline any explanations now. For which reason, I shall not decline to explain, assuming the responsibility for betraying the secret. I received the swords from Yennefer of Vengerberg. It occurred two weeks ago in Novigrad. I’m a dwimveandra. I met Yennefer by accident, at a master sorceress’s where I was just finishing an apprenticeship. When she learned that I was heading south and my master could vouch for me, Madam Yennefer commissioned me. And gave me a letter of recommendation to a sorceress acquaintance of hers I was planning to do an apprenticeship with.”

“How…” said Geralt, swallowing. “How is she? Yennefer? In good health?”

“Excellent, I think,” said Tiziana Frevi, peering at him from under her eyelashes. “She’s doing splendidly, she looks enviably well. And to be frank I do envy her.”

Geralt stood up. He went over to the innkeeper, who had almost fainted in fear.

“You shouldn’t have…” said Tiziana modestly, when a moment later the innkeeper placed a flagon of Est Est, the most expensive white wine from Toussaint, in front of them. And several additional candles stuck into the necks of old bottles.

“You’re going to too much trouble, really,” she added, when a moment later some dishes arrived on the table, one with slices of raw, dried ham, another with smoked trout, and a third with a selection of cheeses. “You’re spending too much, Witcher.”

“It’s a special occasion. And the company is splendid.”

She thanked him with a nod. And a smile. A pretty smile.

On graduating from magic school every sorceress faced a choice. She could stay on at the school as an assistant to the master-preceptresses. She could ask one of the independent sorceress-masters to take her on as a permanent apprentice. Or she could choose the way of the dwimveandra.