Above Nenneke and Iola–hands. The hands of a woman with golden eyes held out in a gesture of blessing. In the woman’s necklace–a diamond, shining like the morning star. On the woman’s shoulder–a cat. Over her head–a falcon.

More doors.

Triss Merigold holds back her glorious chestnut hair, buffeted and tugged by gusts of wind. There is no escape from the wind, nothing can shelter from the wind.

Not here. Not on the brow of the hill.

A long, unending row of shadows encroaches on the hill. Forms. They are walking slowly. Some turn their faces towards her. Familiar faces. Vesemir. Eskel. Lambert. Coen. Yarpen Zigrin and Paulie Dahlberg. Fabio Sachs… Jarre… Tissaia de Vries.

Mistle…

Geralt?

More doors.

Yennefer, in chains, fastened to a dungeon wall dripping with water. Her hands are a single mass of clotted blood. Her black hair is tousled and dishevelled… Her mouth is cut and swollen… But her will to fight and resistance are undamped in her violet eyes.

‘Mummy! Hold on! Don’t give up! I’m coming to help you!’

More doors. Ciri turns her head away in distress. And embarrassment.

Geralt. And a green-eyed woman with black, close-cropped hair. Both naked. Engrossed by and consumed with each other. With giving each other sensual pleasure.

Ciri fights to overcome the adrenaline tightening her throat and spurs Kelpie on. Hooves clatter. Whispers pulsate in the darkness.

More doors.

Welcome, Ciri.

‘Vysogota?’

I knew you would succeed, O courageous maiden. My brave Swallow. Did you emerge unharmed?

‘I defeated them. On the ice. I had a surprise for them. Your daughter’s skates…’

‘I meant psychological harm.’

‘I held back from vengeance… I didn’t kill them all… I didn’t kill Tawny Owl… Even though he hurt and disfigured me. I controlled myself.’

‘I knew you’d prevail, Zireael. And that you’d enter the tower. Why, I’ve read about it. Because it has already been described… It has all been written about. Do you know what learning gives you? The ability to make use of sources.

‘How’s it possible that we’re talking… O Vysogota… are you…’

Yes, Ciri. I’m dead. Oh, never mind! What I have learned is more important, what I have worked out… Now I know what became of the lost days, what happened in Korath desert, how you vanished from the sight of your pursuers…

‘And how I entered here, entered this tower, right?’

The Elder Blood that flows in your veins gives you power over time. And over space. Over the dimensions and the spheres. You are now Master of the Worlds, Ciri. You have a mighty Power. Do not let criminals or rogues take it from you and use it to their own ends…

‘I won’t.’

Farewell, Ciri. Farewell, Swallow.

‘Farewell, Old Raven.’

More doors. Brightness, dazzling brightness.

And the heady scent of flowers.