The book was richly illustrated. To tell the truth, there was nothing in it apart from illustrations. Although she tried to play the sophisticated lady, the blood rushed to Ciri’s cheeks. She’d seen several such works in the temple library in Ellander. But they couldn’t compete with the book of the Alder King, neither in the richness and variety of the positions, nor in the artistry of their depiction.

They looked at it for a long time, in silence.

‘Please get undressed.’

This time he also got undressed. His body was slender and boyish, downright skinny like Giselher, like Kayleigh, like Reef, whom she’d seen many times when they bathed in streams or mountain lakes. But vitality exuded from Giselher and the Rats, life exuded from them, the desire to live, blazing among the silver drops of water spraying around.

But from him, from the Alder King, the cold of eternity exuded.

He was patient. Several times it seemed it was about to happen. But nothing came of it. Ciri was angry at herself, certain that it was because of her ignorance and paralysing lack of skill. He noticed and calmed her. As usual, very effectively. And she fell asleep in his arms.

But in the morning he wasn’t with her.

The next evening, for the first time, the Alder King betrayed his impatience.

She found him hunched over the table where a looking glass framed in amber was lying. White powder had been sprinkled on it.

It’s beginning, she thought.

Auberon used a small knife to gather the fisstech and form it into two lines. He took a silver tube and sniffed up the narcotic, first to the left, then to the right nostril. His eyes, usually sparkling, dimmed slightly and became cloudy, began to water. Ciri knew at once it wasn’t his first dose.

He formed two fresh lines on the glass, then invited her over with a gesture, handing her the tube. Oh, who cares, she thought. It’ll be easier.

The drug was extremely powerful.

A short while later they were both sitting on the bed, hugging, and staring at the moon with their eyes watering.

Ciri sneezed.

‘An uncharted night,’ she said, wiping her nose with the sleeve of her silk blouse.

‘Enchanting,’ he corrected her, wiping an eye. ‘Ensh’eass, not en’leass. You need to work on your pronunciation.’

‘I will.’

‘Get undressed.’

At first it seemed it would be good, that the drug would stimulate him as much as it had her. And its effect on her was to make her active and adventurous, why, she even whispered a few extremely indecent–in her opinion–words into his ear. It must have got to him a little–the effect was, hmm, tangible, and at one moment Ciri was certain it was about to happen. But it didn’t. At least not all the way.