Dammit, he thought, if Yennefer feels like I do now when she’s with me, I feel sorry for her. And I shall never be astonished again. I will never hate her again… Never again.

Because perhaps Yennefer feels what I’m feeling now, feels a profound certainty that I ought to fulfil what it is impossible to fulfil, even more impossible to fulfil than the relationship between Agloval and Sh’eenaz. Certainty that a little sacrifice isn’t enough here; you’d have to sacrifice everything, and there’d still be no way of knowing if that would be enough. No, I won’t continue to hate Yennefer for not being able and not wanting to give me more than a little sacrifice. Now I know that a little sacrifice is a hell of a lot.

‘Geralt,’ Little Eye moaned, drawing her head into her shoulders. ‘I’m so ashamed. I’m ashamed of what I’m feeling, it’s like an accursed infirmity, like malaria, like being unable to breathe…’

He was silent.

‘I always thought it was a beautiful and noble state of mind, noble and dignified, even if it makes one unhappy. After all, I’ve composed so many ballads about it. And it is organic, Geralt, meanly and heartbreakingly organic. Someone who is ill or who has drunk poison might feel like this. Because like someone who has drunk poison, one is prepared to do anything in exchange for an antidote. Anything. Even be humiliated.’

‘Essi. Please…’

‘Yes. I feel humiliated, humiliated by having confessed everything to you, disregarding the dignity that demands one suffers in silence. By the fact that my confession caused you embarrassment. I feel humiliated by the fact that you’re embarrassed. But I couldn’t have behaved any differently. I’m powerless. At your mercy, like someone who’s bedridden. I’ve always been afraid of illness, of being weak, helpless, hopeless and alone. I’ve always been afraid of sickness, always believing it the worst thing that could befall me…’

He was silent.

‘I know,’ she groaned again. ‘I know I ought to be grateful to you for… for not taking advantage of the situation. But I’m not grateful to you. And I’m ashamed of it. For I hate your silence, your terrified eyes. I hate you. For staying silent. For not lying, for not… And I hate her, that sorceress of yours, I’d happily stab her for… I hate her. Make me go, Geralt. Order me to leave here. For of my own free will I cannot, but I want to get out of here, go to the city, to a tavern… I want to have my revenge on you for my shame, for the humiliation, I’ll go to the first man I find…’

Dammit, he thought, hearing her voice dropping like a rag ball rolling down the stairs. She’ll burst into tears, he thought, there’s no doubt, she’ll burst into tears. What to do, what to bloody do?

Essi’s hunched up shoulders were trembling hard. The girl turned her head away and began to weep, crying softly, dreadfully calmly and unrelentingly.