‘Tissaia’s right,’ said Yennefer, still staring into the corner of the bathhouse. ‘Stop. I know you’re feeling low because of Lars, but don’t moralise. The girl still has time for that kind of learning. And she won’t receive it in school. Ciri, go and get another carafe.’

Ciri stood up. She was completely dressed.

And her mind was utterly made up.

‘What?’ Yennefer shrieked. ‘What do you mean she’s gone?’

‘She ordered me…’ mumbled the innkeeper, pale, with his back pressed against the wall. ‘She ordered me to saddle a horse…’

‘And you obeyed her? Rather than ask us?’

‘Madam! How was I to know? I was sure she was leaving on your orders… It never once occurred to me—’

‘You damned fool!’

‘Take it easy, Yennefer,’ said Tissaia, pressing a hand against her forehead. ‘Don’t succumb to your emotions. It’s night. They won’t let her through the gate.’

‘She ordered the postern opened…’ whispered the innkeeper.

‘And was it?’

‘Because of the conclave, madam,’ said the innkeeper, lowering his eyes, ‘the city is full of sorcerers… People are afraid. No one dares to get in their way… How could I refuse her? She spoke just like you do, madam, in exactly the same tone, and she looked the same way… No one even dared to look her in the eye, never mind ask a question… She was like you… The spitting image… She even ordered a quill and ink and wrote a letter.’

‘Hand it over!’

Tissaia de Vries was quicker, and read aloud:

Madam Yennefer,

Forgive me. I’m riding to Hirundum because I want to see Geralt. I want to see him before I start school. Forgive my disobedience, but I must. I know you’ll punish me, but I don’t want to regret my indecision and hesitation. If I’m to have regrets, let them be for deeds and actions. I’m an enchantress. I seize life by the scruff of the neck. I’ll return when I can.

Ciri

‘Is that all?’

‘There’s also a postscript.’

Tell Madam Rita she won’t have to wipe my nose at school.

Margarita Laux-Antille shook her head in disbelief as Yennefer cursed. The innkeeper flushed and opened his mouth. He’d heard many curses in his life, but never that one.

The wind blew from the land towards the sea. Waves of cloud drifted over the moon, suspended over the forest. The road to Hirundum was plunged into darkness making galloping too dangerous. Ciri slowed to a trot, but she didn’t consider slowing to a walk. She was in a hurry.

The growling of an approaching storm could be heard in the distance, and from time to time the horizon was lit up by a flash of lightning, revealing the toothed saw of treetops against the dusk.

She reined in her horse. She was at a junction; the road forked and both forks looked identical.

Why hadn’t Fabio said anything about a fork in the road? And anyway, I never get lost. After all, I always know which way to walk or ride…