‘Perhaps a little. But Calanthe, whom I had to inform about everything, by no means made light of the matter. I knew she had marriage plans regarding Ciri, I think it concerned the young Tankred Thyssen of Kovir, and perhaps the Redanian, Radovid. I can’t be certain. But rumours might have harmed the marriage plans, even rumours about innocent kisses or half-innocent caresses. Calanthe took Ciri back to Cintra without a moment’s delay. The girl kicked up a row, yelled and sobbed, but nothing helped. There was no arguing with the Lioness of Cintra. Afterwards, Hjalmar lay for two days with his face turned to the wall and didn’t say a word to anyone… As soon as he had recovered, he planned to steal a skiff and sail to Cintra by himself. For that he was strapped, and he put it behind him. But later…’

Crach an Craite went silent, fell into a reverie.

‘Later the summer came, then the autumn, and the entire Nilfgaardian might struck Cintra’s southern wall, through the Marnadal Stairs. And Hjalmar found another opportunity to become a man. In Marnadal, at the Battle of Cintra and later at the Battle of Sodden, he faced the Black Cloaks valiantly. Later, too, when the longships sailed for the Nilfgaardian coasts, Hjalmar avenged his make-believe betrothed with sword in hand, even though people thought she was dead by then. I didn’t believe it, because those phenomena I told you about didn’t occur… Well, and now, when Hjalmar learned of the possible rescue expedition, he volunteered.’

‘Thanks for the story, Crach. It was restful for me to listen. I could forget about… my cares.’

‘When do you set off, Yennefer?’

‘In the coming days. Perhaps even tomorrow. It remains to me to perform one more, final telecommunication.’

Crach an Craite’s eyes were like a hawk’s. They bored deeply, to the very core.

‘You don’t by any chance know, Triss Merigold, who Yennefer spoke to that last time before disassembling the infernal machine? On the night of the twenty-seventh of August? With whom? Or about what?’

Triss hid her eyes behind her eyelashes.

The beam of light diffracted by the diamond animated the surface of the looking glass with a flash. Yennefer extended both hands and intoned a spell. The blinding reflection transformed into a swirl of fog and an image quickly began to emerge from it. The image of a chamber whose walls were draped with a colourful tapestry.

A movement in the window. And an anxious voice.

‘Who is it? Who’s there?’

‘It’s me, Triss.’

‘Yennefer? Is that you? O Gods! How… Where are you?’

‘It isn’t important where I am. Don’t block, for the image is flickering. And take away the candlestick, it’s blinding me.’

‘I’ve done it. Of course.’