I’d rather drop dead, he thought. But he did not say it aloud. Contradicting Yennefer, as he knew, inevitably led to a fight, and a fight with Yennefer was not the safest thing.

‘Have you finished, Geralt?’

‘Yes.’

‘Get out of the tub.’

Without getting up, Yennefer carelessly waved a hand and uttered a spell. The water from the tub–including everything which had spilled onto the floor or was dripping from Geralt–gathered itself with a swoosh into a translucent sphere and whistled through the window. He heard a loud splash.

‘A pox on you, whoresons!’ an infuriated yell rang out from below. ‘Have you nowhere to pour away your piss? I bloody hope you’re eaten alive by lice, catch the ruddy pox and croak!’

The sorceress closed the window.

‘Dammit, Yen,’ the Witcher chuckled. ‘You could have chucked the water somewhere else.’

‘I could have,’ she purred, ‘but I didn’t feel like it.’

She took the oil lamp from the table and walked over to him. The white nightdress clinging to her body as she moved made her tremendously appealing. More so than if she were naked, he thought.

‘I want to look you over,’ she said, ‘the zeugl might have injured you.’

‘It didn’t. I would have felt it.’

‘After the elixirs? Don’t be ridiculous. After the elixirs you wouldn’t even have felt an open fracture, until the protruding bones started snagging on hedges. And there might have been anything on the zeugl, including tetanus and cadaveric poison. If anything happens there’s still time for counter-measures. Turn around.’

He felt the soft warmth of the lamp’s flame on his body and the occasional brushing of her hair.

‘Everything seems to be in order,’ she said. ‘Lie down before the elixirs knock you off your feet. Those mixtures are devilishly dangerous. They’ll destroy you in the end.’

‘I have to take them before I fight.’

Yennefer did not answer. She sat down at the looking glass once more and slowly combed her black, curly, shimmering locks. She always combed her hair before going to bed. Geralt found it peculiar, but he adored watching her doing it. He suspected Yennefer was aware of it.

He suddenly felt very cold, and the elixirs indeed jolted him, numbed the nape of his neck and swirled around the bottom of his stomach in vortices of nausea. He cursed under his breath and fell heavily onto the bed, without taking his eyes off Yennefer.

A movement in the corner of the chamber caught his attention. A smallish, pitch-black bird sat on a set of antlers nailed crookedly to the wall and festooned in cobwebs.

Glancing sideways, it looked at the Witcher with a yellow, fixed eye.

‘What’s that, Yen? How did it get here?’

‘What?’ Yennefer turned her head. ‘Oh, that. It’s a kestrel.’

‘A kestrel? Kestrels are rufous and speckled, and that one’s black.’

‘It’s an enchanted kestrel. I made it.’

‘What for?’

‘I need it,’ she cut him off. Geralt did not ask any more questions, knowing that Yennefer would not answer.