Count Falwick met his eyes and Geralt realized his mistake. There was pure, unwavering hatred in the White Rose knight’s eyes. The witcher was sure that it was not Duke Hereward who was chasing him out, but Falwick and his like.

The knight turned to Nenneke, bowed with respect and began to speak. He spoke calmly and politely. He spoke logically. But Geralt knew Falwick was lying through his teeth.

“Venerable Nenneke, I ask your forgiveness, but Prince Hereward will not tolerate the presence of this witcher on his lands. It is of no importance if he is hunting monsters or claims to be here on personal business—the prince knows that witchers do not undertake personal business. But they do attract trouble like a magnet filings. The wizards are rebelling and writing petitions, the druids are threatening—”

“I don’t see why Geralt should bear the consequences of the unruliness of local wizards and druids,” interrupted the priestess. “Since when has Hereward been interested in either’s opinion?”

“Enough of this discussion.” Falwick stiffened. “Have I not made myself sufficiently clear, venerable Nenneke? I will make it so clear as can’t be clearer: neither the prince nor the Chapter of the Order will tolerate the presence of this witcher, Geralt, the Butcher of Blaviken, in Ellander for one more day.”

“This isn’t Ellander!” The priestess sprang from her chair. “This is the temple of Melitele! And I, Nenneke, the high priestess of Melitele, will not tolerate your presence on temple grounds a minute longer, sirs!”

“Sir Falwick,” the witcher said quietly, “listen to the voice of reason. I don’t want any trouble, nor do I believe that you particularly care for it. I’ll leave this neighborhood within three days. No, Nenneke, don’t say anything, please. It’s time for me to be on my way. Three days. I don’t ask for more.”

“And you’re right not to ask.” The priestess spoke before Falwick could react. “Did you hear, boys? The witcher will remain here for three days because that’s his fancy. And I, priestess of Great Melitele, will for those three days be his host, for that is my fancy. Tell that to Hereward. No, not Hereward. Tell that to his wife, the noble Ermellia, adding that if she wants to continue receiving an uninterrupted supply of aphrodisiacs from my pharmacy, she’d better calm her duke down. Let her curb his humors and whims, which look ever more like symptoms of idiocy.”

“Enough!” Tailles shouted so shrilly his voice broke into a falsetto. “I don’t intend to stand by and listen as some charlatan insults my lord and his wife! I will not let such an insult pass unnoticed! It is the Order of the White Rose which will rule here, now; it’s the end of your nests of darkness and superstitions. And I, a Knight of the White Rose—”

“Shut up, you brat,” interrupted Geralt, smiling nastily. “Halt your uncontrolled little tongue. You speak to a lady who deserves respect, especially from a Knight of the White Rose. Admittedly, to become one it’s enough, lately, to pay a thousand Novigrad crowns into the Chapter’s treasury, so the Order’s full of sons of moneylenders and tailors—but surely some manners have survived? But maybe I’m mistaken?”