‘Don’t touch me!’ she yelled. ‘You peasant! I am a princess, so you’d better be careful!’

‘You’re a foolish imp.’

‘I’m a princess!’

‘Princesses don’t roam through forests alone. Princesses have clean noses.’

‘I’ll have you beheaded! And her too!’ The girl wiped her nose with her hand and glared at the approaching dryad. Braenn snorted with laughter.

‘Alright, enough of this,’ the Witcher cut her off. ‘Why were you running away, Your Highness? And where to? What were you afraid of?’

She said nothing, and sniffed.

‘Very well, as you wish,’ he winked at the dryad. ‘We’re going. If you want to stay alone in the forest, that’s your choice. But the next time a yghern attacks you, don’t yell. It doesn’t befit a princess. A princess dies without even a squeal, having first wiped her snotty nose. Let’s go, Braenn. Farewell, Your Highness.’

‘W… wait.’

‘Aha?’

‘I’m coming with you.’

‘We are greatly honoured. Aren’t we, Braenn?’

‘But you won’t take me to Kistrin again? Do you swear?’

‘Who is—?’ he began. ‘Oh, dammit. Kistrin. Prince Kistrin? The son of King Ervyll of Verden?’

The little girl pouted her little lips, sniffed and turned away.

‘Enough of these trifles,’ said Braenn grimly. ‘Let us march on.’

‘Hold on, hold on.’ The Witcher straightened up and looked down at the dryad. ‘Our plans are changing somewhat, my comely archer.’

‘Eh?’ Braenn said, raising her eyebrows.

‘Lady Eithné can wait. I have to take the little one home. To Verden.’

The dryad squinted and reached for her quiver.

‘You’re not going anywhere. Nor is she.’

The Witcher smiled hideously.

‘Be careful, Braenn,’ he said. ‘I’m not that pup whose eye you speared with an arrow from the undergrowth. I can look after myself.’

‘Bloede arss!’ she hissed, raising her bow. ‘You’re going to Duén Canell, and so is she! Not to Verden!’

‘No. Not to Verden!’ the mousy-haired girl said, throwing herself at the dryad and pressing herself against her slim thigh. ‘I’m going with you! And he can go to Verden by himself, to silly old Kistrin, if he wants!’

Braenn did not even look at her, did not take her eyes off Geralt. But she lowered her bow.

‘Ess dungh!’ she said, spitting at his feet. ‘Very well! Then go on your way! We’ll see how you fare. You’ll kiss an arrow before you leave Brokilon.’

She’s right, thought Geralt. I don’t have a chance. Without her I won’t get out of Brokilon nor reach Duén Canell. Too bad, we shall see. Perhaps I’ll manage to persuade Eithné…

‘Very well, Braenn,’ he said placatingly, and smiled. ‘Don’t be furious, fair one. Very well, have it your way. We shall all go to Duén Canell. To Lady Eithné.’

The dryad muttered something under her breath and unnocked the arrow.

‘To the road, then,’ she said, straightening her hairband. ‘We have tarried too long.’

‘Ooow…’ the little girl yelped as she took a step.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘I’ve done something… To my leg.’