‘Thank you, Visenna. For your help and advice. Thank you… for everything.’

He dug his hand out from under the skins and found her knee. She shuddered, put her hand into his and squeezed it lightly. He cautiously released her fingers, and slid his down over her forearm.

Of course. The soft skin of a young woman. She shuddered even more strongly, but did not withdraw her arm. He brought his fingers back to her hand and joined his with hers.

The medallion on his neck vibrated and twitched.

‘Thank you, Visenna,’ he repeated, trying to control his voice. ‘I’m glad our paths crossed.’

‘Chance…’ she said, but this time there was no coolness in her voice.

‘Or perhaps destiny?’ he asked, astonished, for the excitement and nervousness had suddenly evaporated from him completely. ‘Do you believe in destiny, Visenna?’

‘Yes,’ she replied after a while. ‘I do.’

‘That people linked by destiny will always find each other?’ he continued.

‘Yes, I believe that too… What are you doing? Don’t turn over…’

‘I want to look into your face… Visenna. I want to look into your eyes. And you… You must look into mine.’

She made a movement as though about to spring up from her knees. But she remained beside him. He turned over slowly, lips twisting with pain. There was more light, someone had put some more wood on the fire.

She was not moving now. She simply moved her head to the side, offering her profile, but this time he clearly saw her mouth quivering. She tightened her fingers on his hand, powerfully.

He looked.

There was no similarity at all. She had an utterly different profile. A small nose. A narrow chin. She was silent. Then she suddenly leaned over him and looked him straight in the eye. From close up. Without a word.

‘How do you like my enhanced eyes?’ he asked calmly. ‘Unusual, aren’t they? Do you know, Visenna, what is done to witchers’ eyes to improve them? Do you know it doesn’t always work?’

‘Stop it,’ she said softly. ‘Stop it, Geralt.’

‘Geralt…’ he suddenly felt something tearing in him. ‘Vesemir gave me that name. Geralt of Rivia! I even learned to imitate a Rivian accent. Probably from an inner need to possess a homeland. Even if it was an invented one. Vesemir… gave me my name. Vesemir also revealed yours. Not very willingly.’

‘Be quiet, Geralt. Be quiet.’

‘You tell me today you believe in destiny. And back then… Did you believe back then? Oh, yes, you must have. You must have believed that destiny would bring us together. The fact you did nothing to quicken this encounter ought to be attributed to that.’

She was silent.

‘I always wanted… I have pondered over what I would say to you, when we finally met. I’ve thought about the question I would ask you. I thought it would give me some sort of perverse pleasure…’

What sparkled on her cheek was a tear. Undoubtedly. He felt his throat constrict until it hurt. He felt fatigue. Drowsiness. Weakness.