He lay down beside her, fully dressed, even in his boots. When he touched her, she tensed up, involuntarily, a little angry at herself, for she had decided to act proud and impassive. Her teeth, whether she liked it or not, were chattering somewhat. His touch thrilled her, however, and his fingers taught her and commanded her. Guided her. Once she had begun to understand the suggestions so well that she was almost anticipating them, she closed her eyes and imagined it was Mistle. But she was unable to. For he was so unlike Mistle.

He instructed her with his hand. She obeyed. Willingly. Urgently.

He didn’t hurry at all. He made her soften beneath his caresses like a silk ribbon. He made her moan. Made her bite her lips. Made her whole body jerk in a sudden, shocking spasm.

What he did then, she hadn’t expected at all.

He stood up and walked away. Leaving her aroused, panting and trembling.

He didn’t even look back.

The blood struck Ciri’s face and temples. She curled up in a ball on the mink sheets and sobbed. From rage, shame and humiliation.

In the morning she found Avallac’h in the peristyle behind the palace, among an avenue of statues. The statues–most peculiarly–portrayed elven children. In various–mainly playful–poses. The one Avallac’h was standing by was particularly interesting: it depicted a young elf standing on one leg with its face contorted in anger, fists clenched.

Ciri couldn’t tear her gaze away for a long time, and she felt a dull ache in her belly. Only when urged by Avallac’h did she tell him everything. In general terms and stammering.

‘He,’ Avallac’h said gravely after she had finished, ‘has watched the smokes of Samhain more than six hundred times. Believe me, Swallow, that is a lot even for the Alder Folk.’

‘What do I care?’ she snapped. ‘I made an agreement! You must have learned from the dwarves, your comrades, what a contract is? I’m keeping my side of it! I’m giving myself! What do I care that he can’t or doesn’t want to? What do I care if it’s senile impotence, or if I don’t attract him? Perhaps Dh’oine repulse him? Perhaps like Eredin he only sees in me a nugget in a heap of compost?’

‘I hope…’ Avallac’h’s face, exceptionally, changed and contorted. ‘I hope you didn’t say anything like that to him?’

‘No, I didn’t. Though I felt like it.’

‘Beware. You don’t know what you’re risking.’

‘It’s all the same to me. I entered into a contract. Take it or leave it! Either you keep your side of the bargain, or we nullify the contract and I’ll be free.’

‘Beware, Zireael,’ he repeated, pointing at the statue of the upset child. ‘Don’t be like this one here. Consider every word. Try to understand. And if you don’t understand something, don’t act rashly under any circumstances. Be patient. Remember, time means nothing.’

‘Yes, it does!’