‘You are.’

‘So you’ll ride with Regis and Cahir down the Sansretour valley. You’ll wait for us in the mountains, without crossing the Toussaint border for now. But if… if the necessity arises, you’ll have to cross it. For the druids, the ones from Caed Dhu, Regis’s acquaintances, are allegedly in Toussaint. So if the necessity arises, you’ll get information about Ciri from the druids and set off to get her… alone.’

‘What do you mean alone? Do you anticipate—’

‘I’m not anticipating, I’m bearing in mind the possibility. Just in case, so to speak. As a last resort, if you prefer. Perhaps it’ll all go well and we won’t have to show up in Toussaint. But in the event… well, then it’s important that a Nilfgaardian force doesn’t follow you to Toussaint.’

‘Well, it won’t,’ Angoulême cut in. ‘It’s strange, but Nilfgaard respects Toussaint’s marches. I’ve hidden from pursuers there before. But the knights there are no better than the Black Cloaks! Refined and courteous in their speech, but quick to seize the sword or lance. And they patrol the marches ceaselessly. They’re called knights errant. They ride alone, or in twos or threes. And they persecute the rabble. Which means us. Witcher, one detail needs changing in your plans.’

‘What?’

‘If we are to make for Belhaven and cross swords with Nightingale, you and Sir Cahir should go with me. And let aunty go with them.’

‘Why so?’ Geralt calmed Milva with a gesture.

‘You need men for that job. Why are you raging, aunty? I know what I’m talking about! When the time comes, it may be necessary to act with menace, rather than force itself. And none of Nightingale’s hanza will be scared of a band of three, where there are two women to one man.’

‘Milva rides with us.’ Geralt clenched his fingers around the archer’s forearm, who was genuinely infuriated. ‘Milva, not Cahir. I don’t want to ride with Cahir.’

‘Why’s that?’ Angoulême and Cahir asked almost at the same time.

‘Precisely,’ Regis said slowly. ‘Why?’

‘Because I don’t trust him,’ the Witcher said bluntly.

The silence which fell was unpleasant, weighty; almost tangible. From the forest, near which a merchants’ caravan and a group of other travellers had made camp, came raised voices, shouts and singing.

‘Explain,’ Cahir said at last.

‘Somebody has betrayed us,’ Witcher said dryly. ‘After our conversation with the prefect and Angoulême’s revelations, there’s no doubt about it. And if one thinks it over carefully, one comes to the conclusion that there’s a traitor among us. And it takes little pondering to guess who.’

‘It seems to me,’ Cahir frowned, ‘that you have taken the liberty to suggest that the traitor is me?’

‘I don’t deny that such a thought has occurred to me,’ the Witcher’s voice was cold. ‘There’s much to suggest it. It would explain much. Very much.’

‘Geralt,’ said Dandelion. ‘Aren’t you going a mite too far?’

‘Let him speak.’ Cahir curled his lip. ‘Let him speak. Let him feel free.’