‘It’s my medallion.’

‘Aha.’ She looked suspicious. ‘A curious thing. But anyway, we’re only alive thanks to Ciri.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘His eye. He never regained full coordination. He didn’t always land his blow. But I mainly owe my life to…’

She fell silent, glanced at the remains of the melted column, in which the outline of a shape could be discerned.

‘Who was that, Geralt?’

‘A friend. I’m going to miss him.’

‘Was he a human?’

‘The epitome of humanity. How are you, Yen?’

‘A few broken ribs, concussion, twisted hip joint, bruised spine. Besides that, excellent. And yourself?’

‘More or less the same.’

She looked impassively at Vilgefortz’s head lying exactly in the centre of the floor mosaic. The sorcerer’s small eye, already glazed, looked at them with mute reproach.

‘That’s a nice sight,’ she said.

‘It is,’ he admitted a moment later. ‘But I’ve already seen enough. Will you be able to walk?’

‘With your help, yes.’

And they met, all three of them, in a place where the corridors came together, under the arcades. They met beneath the dead gazes of the alabaster caryatids.

‘Ciri,’ said the Witcher. And rubbed his eyes.

‘Ciri,’ said Yennefer, being held up by the Witcher.

‘Geralt,’ said Ciri.

‘Ciri,’ he replied, overcoming a sudden tightening of the throat. ‘Good to see you again.’

‘Madam Yennefer.’

The sorceress freed herself from the Witcher’s arm and straightened up with the greatest of effort.

‘What do you look like, girl?’ she said severely. ‘Just look at you! Tidy up your hair! Don’t stoop. Come here please.’

Ciri approached, as stiff as an automaton. Yennefer straightened and smoothed her collar, and tried to wipe the now dried blood from Ciri’s sleeve. She touched her hair. And uncovered the scar on her cheek. She hugged her tightly. Very tightly. Geralt saw her hands on Ciri’s back. Saw the deformed fingers. He didn’t feel anger, resentment or hatred. He felt only weariness. And a huge desire to be done with all of it.

‘Mamma.’

‘Daughter.’

‘Let’s go.’ He decided to interrupt them. But only after a long while.

Ciri sniffed noisily and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Yennefer shot an angry look at her, and wiped her eye, which something had probably got into. The Witcher looked down the corridor from where Ciri had exited, as though expecting somebody else to come out of it. Ciri shook her head. He understood.

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he repeated.

‘Yes,’ said Yennefer. ‘I want see the sky.’

‘I’ll never leave you both,’ Ciri said softly. ‘Never.’

‘Let’s get out of here,’ he repeated. ‘Ciri, hold Yen up.’

‘I don’t need holding up!’

‘Let me, Mamma.’

In front of them was a stairway, a great stairway drowning in smoke, in the twinkling glow of torches and fire in iron cressets. Ciri shuddered. She had seen that stairway before. In dreams and visions.

Down below, far away, armed men were waiting.

‘I’m tired,’ she whispered.