“It is,” said the witcher. “Do the attacks on people only occur during the full moon?”

“Yes,” replied Segelin, “if she attacks beyond the old palace. Within the palace walls people always die, irrespective of the moon’s phase. But she only ventures out during the full moon, and not always then.”

“Has there been even one attack during the day?”

“No.”

“Does she always devour her victims?”

Velerad spat vehemently on the straw.

“Come on, Geralt, it’ll be supper soon. Pish! Devours, takes a bite, leaves aside, it varies—according to her mood, no doubt. She only bit the head from one, gutted a couple, and a few more she picked clean to the bone, sucked them dry, you could say. Damned mother’s—!”

“Careful, Velerad,” snarled Ostrit. “Say what you want about the striga but do not insult Adda in front of me, as you would not dare in the king’s presence!”

“Has anyone she’s attacked survived?” the witcher asked, apparently paying no special attention to the magnate’s outburst.

Segelin and Ostrit looked at each other.

“Yes,” said the bearded man. “At the very beginning, seven years ago, she threw herself at two soldiers standing guard over the crypt. One escaped—”

“And then,” interrupted Velerad, “there was another, the miller she attacked near the town. You remember…?”

IV

The following day, late in the evening, the miller was brought to the small chamber above the guardhouse allocated to the witcher. He was led in by a soldier in a hooded coat.

The conversation did not yield any significant results. The miller was terrified; he mumbled and stammered, and his scars told the witcher more than he did. The striga could open her jaws impressively wide and had extremely sharp teeth, including very long upper fangs—four of them, two on each side. Her claws were sharper than a wildcat’s, but less curved. And it was only because of that the miller had managed to tear himself away.

Having finished his examination Geralt nodded to the miller and soldier, dismissing them. The soldier pushed the peasant through the door and lowered his hood. It was Foltest himself.

“Sit, do not get up,” said the king. “This visit is unofficial. Are you happy with the interview? I heard you were at the palace this morning.”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“When will you set about your task?”

“It is four days until the full moon. After that.”

“You prefer to have a look at her yourself beforehand?”

“There is no need. But having had her fill the—the princess will be less active.”

“Striga, master witcher, striga. Let us not play at diplomacy. She will be a princess afterward. And that is what I have come to talk about. Answer me unofficially, briefly and clearly: will it work or not? Don’t hide behind your code.”

Geralt rubbed his brow.

“I confirm, your Majesty, that the spell might be reversed. And, unless I am mistaken, it can be done by spending the night at the palace. The third crowing of the cock, as long as it catches the striga outside her sarcophagus, will end the spell. That is what is usually done with strigas.”