‘Are you seeing Istredd tomorrow?’

The sorceress moved the vials to the edge of the table, put her comb into a small box and closed the side panels of the looking glass.

‘Yes. First thing. Why?’

‘Nothing.’

She lay down beside him, without snuffing out the lamp. She never doused lights; she could not bear to fall asleep in the dark. Whether an oil lamp, a lantern, or a candle, it had to burn right down. Always. One more foible. Yennefer had a remarkable number of foibles.

‘Yen?’

‘Uh-huh?’

‘When are we leaving?’

‘Don’t be tedious,’ she tugged the eiderdown sharply. ‘We’ve only been here three days, and you’ve asked that question at least thirty times. I’ve told you, I have things to deal with.’

‘With Istredd?’

‘Yes,’

He sighed and embraced her, not concealing his intentions.

‘Hey,’ she whispered. ‘You’ve taken elixirs…’

‘What of it?’

‘Nothing,’ she giggled like a schoolgirl, cuddling up to him, arching her body and lifting herself to allow her nightdress to slip off. As usual, the delight in her nakedness coursed in a shudder down his back and tingled in his fingers as they touched her skin. His lips touched her breasts, rounded and delicate, with nipples so pale they were visible only by their contours. He entwined his fingers in her hair, her lilac-and-gooseberry perfumed hair.

She succumbed to his caresses, purring like a cat, rubbing her bent knee against his hip.

It rapidly turned out–as usual–that he had overestimated his stamina regarding the witcher elixirs, had forgotten about their disagreeable effects on his body. But perhaps it’s not the elixirs, he thought, perhaps it’s exhaustion brought on by fighting, risks, danger and death? Exhaustion, which has simply become routine? But my body, even though artificially enhanced, doesn’t succumb to routine. It reacts naturally. Just not when it’s supposed to. Dammit.

But Yennefer, as usual, was not discouraged by a mere trifle. He felt her touch him, heard her purr right by his ear. As usual, he involuntarily pondered over the colossal number of occasions she must have used that most practical of spells. And then he stopped pondering.

As usual it was anything but ordinary.

He looked at her mouth, at its corners, twitching in an unwitting smile. He knew that smile well, it always seemed to him more one of triumph than of happiness. He had never asked her about it. He knew she would not answer.

The black kestrel sitting on the antlers beat its wings and snapped its curved beak. Yennefer turned her head away and sighed. Very sadly.

‘Yen?’

‘It’s nothing, Geralt,’ she said, kissing him. ‘It’s nothing.’

The oil lamp glimmered and flickered. A mouse was scratching in the wall, and a deathwatch beetle in the dresser clicked softly, rhythmically and monotonously.

‘Yen?’

‘Mhm?’

‘Let’s get away. I feel bad here. This town has an awful effect on me.’

She turned over on her side, ran a hand across his cheek, brushing some strands of hair away. Her fingers travelled downwards, touching the coarse scars marking the side of his neck.