“Light the candle,” she said. “I can’t see in the dark, unlike you, and I like to see who I’m talking to.”

She approached the table—tall, slim, agile—and sat down, stretching out her long legs in their high boots. She wasn’t carrying any visible weapons.

“Have you got anything to drink here?”

“No.”

“Then it’s a good thing I brought something,” she laughed, placing a traveling wineskin and two leather tumblers on the table.

“It’s nearly midnight,” said Geralt coldly. “Shall we come to the point?”

“In a minute. Here, have a drink. Here’s to you, Geralt.”

“Likewise, Shrike.”

“My name’s Renfri, dammit.” She raised her head. “I will permit you to omit my royal title, but stop calling me Shrike!”

“Be quiet or you’ll wake the whole house. Am I finally going to learn why you crept in here through the window?”

“You’re slow-witted, witcher. I want to save Blaviken from slaughter. I crawled over the rooftops like a she-cat in March in order to talk to you about it. Appreciate it.”

“I do,” said Geralt. “Except that I don’t know what talk can achieve. The situation’s clear. Stregobor is in his tower, and you’d have to lay siege to it in order to get to him. If you do that, your letter of safe conduct won’t help you. Audoen won’t defend you if you openly break the law. The alderman, guards, the whole of Blaviken will stand against you.”

“The whole of Blaviken would regret standing up to me.” Renfri smiled, revealing a predator’s white teeth. “Did you take a look at my boys? They know their trade, I assure you. Can you imagine what would happen in a fight between them and those dimwit guards who keep tripping over their own halberds?”

“Do you imagine I would stand by and watch a fight like that? I’m staying at the alderman’s, as you can see. If the need arises, I should stand at his side.”

“I have no doubt”—Renfri grew serious—“that you will. But you’ll probably be alone, as the rest will cower in the cellars. No warrior in the world could match seven swordsmen. So, white-hair, let’s stop threatening each other. As I said: slaughter and bloodshed can be avoided. There are two people who can prevent it.”

“I’m all ears.”

“One,” said Renfri, “is Stregobor himself. He leaves his tower voluntarily, I take him to a deserted spot, and Blaviken sinks back into blissful apathy and forgets the whole affair.”

“Stregobor may seem crazy, but he’s not that crazy.”

“Who knows, witcher, who knows. Some arguments can’t be denied, like the Tridam ultimatum. I plan to present it to the sorcerer.”

“What is it, this ultimatum?”

“That’s my sweet secret.”

“As you wish. But I doubt it’ll be effective. Stregobor’s teeth chatter when he speaks of you. An ultimatum which would persuade him to voluntarily surrender himself into your beautiful hands would have to be pretty good. So who’s the other person? Let me guess.”

“I wonder how sharp you are, white-hair.”