They stood a while, looking.

‘No one told me—’ Ciri was the first to interrupt the silence ‘—what that river’s called.’

‘The Easnadh.’

‘The Sigh? Pretty. And that stream?’

‘The Tuathe.’

‘The Whisper. That’s pretty too. Why did no one tell me that there are humans living in this world?’

‘Because it’s irrelevant information and totally meaningless to you. Let’s go into the bower.’

‘What for?’

‘Let’s go in.’

The first thing she noticed after entering was a bare wooden divan. Ciri felt her temples beginning to throb. Of course, she thought, I should have seen that coming. I read a romance written by Anna Tiller in the temple, didn’t I? About an old king, a young queen and a pretender prince greedy for power. Eredin is ruthless, ambitious and determined. He knows that whoever has a queen is the real king, a real ruler. A real man. Whoever possesses a queen, possesses the kingdom. Here, on this couch, will begin the coup d’état…

The elf sat down on a marble table, and gestured at a chair for Ciri. The view from the window seemed to interest him more than she did, and he wasn’t looking at the couch at all.

‘You’ll remain here forever,’ he said, surprising her, ‘my Amazon, as light as a little butterfly. To the end of your butterfly life.’

She was silent, looking him straight in the eye. There was nothing in those eyes.

‘They won’t let you leave,’ he repeated. ‘They won’t accept that, contrary to the prophecy and myths, you’re no one and nothing, a meaningless creature. They won’t believe it and they won’t let you leave. They hoodwinked you with a promise to ensure your submission, but they never intended to keep that promise. Never.’

‘Avallac’h gave me his word,’ she said hoarsely. ‘Allegedly it’s an insult to doubt the word of an elf.’

‘Avallac’h is a Knowing One. Knowing Ones have their own code of honour in which every second sentence there’s mention of the end justifying the means.’

‘I don’t understand why you’re telling me all this. Unless… you want something from me. Unless I have something you desire. And you want to bargain. Well? Eredin? My freedom for… for what?’

He looked at her for a long while. And she vainly searched in his eyes for some indication, some signal, some sign. Of anything.

‘You’ve no doubt managed to get to know Auberon a little,’ he began slowly. ‘You’ve certainly noticed already that he is simply unimaginably ambitious. There are things he’ll never accept, that he’ll never concede. He’d sooner die.’

Ciri was silent, biting her lips and glancing at the couch.

‘Auberon Muircetach,’ continued the elf, ‘will never use magic or other measures which might change the current situation. And such measures exist. Good, powerful, guaranteed measures. Much more effective than the aphrodisiacs that Avallac’h’s servants saturate your cosmetics with.’

He moved his hand quickly over the dark, veined table top. When he withdrew it a tiny flacon of grey-green nephrite was lying on the table.