Ciri hauled herself out of the pool and sat on the edge, wringing her hair out and splashing her feet in the water. Yennefer and Margarita gossiped lazily, wiping their faces from time to time with cloths soaked in cold water. Tissaia, modestly swathed in a sheet, didn’t join in the conversation, and gave the impression of being utterly absorbed in tidying the objects on the table.

‘My humble apologies, noble ladies,’ called the innkeeper suddenly, unseen, from above. ‘Please forgive my daring to disturb, but… an officer wishes to talk to Madam de Vries urgently. Apparently the matter will brook no delay!’

Margarita Laux-Antille giggled and winked at Yennefer, upon which they pulled the towels from their hips and assumed exotic and extremely provocative poses.

‘Let the officer enter,’ shouted Margarita, trying not to laugh. ‘Welcome. We’re ready.’

‘Children,’ sighed Tissaia de Vries, shaking her head. ‘Cover yourself, Ciri.’

The officer came in, but the enchantresses’ prank misfired. The officer wasn’t embarrassed at the sight of them, and didn’t blush, gape or goggle, because the officer was a woman. A tall, slender woman with a thick, black plait and a sword at her side.

‘Madam,’ said the woman stiffly, her hauberk clanking as she gave Tissaia de Vries a slight bow, ‘I report the execution of your instructions. I would like to ask for permission to return to the garrison.’

‘You may,’ replied Tissaia curtly. ‘Thank you for the escort and your help. Have a safe journey.’

Yennefer sat up on her lounger, looking at the black, gold and red rosette on the soldier’s shoulder.

‘Do I know you?’

The warrior bowed stiffly and wiped her sweat-covered face. It was hot in the bathhouse, and she was wearing a hauberk and leather tunic.

‘I often used to visit Vengerberg, Madam Yennefer,’ she said. ‘My name is Rayla.’

‘Judging by the rosette, you serve in King Demavend’s special units.’

‘Yes, madam.’

‘Your rank?’

‘Captain.’

‘Very good.’ Margarita Laux-Antille laughed. ‘I note with pleasure that Demavend’s army has finally begun to award commissions to soldiers with balls.’

‘May I withdraw?’ said the soldier, standing up straight and resting her hand on the hilt of her sword.

‘You may.’

‘I sensed hostility in your voice, Yenna,’ said Margarita a moment later. ‘What do you have against the captain?’

Yennefer stood up and took two goblets from the table.

‘Did you see the posts by the crossroads?’ she asked. ‘You must have seen them, must have smelled the stench of rotting corpses. Those posts are their idea and their work. She and her subordinates from the special units. They’re a gang of sadists!’

‘There’s a war on, Yennefer. Rayla must have seen her comrades-in-arms falling, alive, into the Squirrels’ clutches many times. Then hung by their arms from trees as target practice. Blinded, castrated, with their feet burnt in campfires. Falka herself wouldn’t have been ashamed of the atrocities committed by the Scoia’tael.’