Hotspurn let her ride closer and looked her in the eyes with a strange smirk. Then he jerked the reins again, making the mare take short steps, circle and walk gracefully sideways. He knows, thought Ciri, the old rascal knows what I’m feeling.

Damn it. I’m simply curious!

‘Some pine needles,’ Hotspurn said gently, riding up very close and extending a hand, ‘have got caught in your hair. I’ll remove them if you allow. And I’ll add that the gesture springs from my gallantry, not from perverted lust.’

The touch–which came as no surprise to her at all–caused her pleasure. She was still very far from a decision, but just to be sure she reckoned the days from her last bleeding. Yennefer had taught her that; to count in advance and with a cool head, because afterwards, when things got hot, a strange aversion to counting developed, linked to a tendency to ignore the potential result.

Hotspurn looked her in the eye and smiled, just as though he knew that the reckoning had come out in his favour. If only he weren’t so old! Ciri sighed. He’s got to be at least thirty…

‘Tourmalines,’ said Hotspurn, his fingers gently touching her ear and earring. ‘Pretty, but only tourmalines. I would gladly give you emeralds. They are precious and have a more intense green, which would suit your looks and the colour of your eyes much better.’

‘Know,’ she drawled, looking at him insolently. ‘If it came to it, I’d demand emeralds in advance. Because no doubt it’s not just horses you treat functionally, Hotspurn. No doubt after a heady night you’d think recalling my first name was pretentious. Fido the dog, Felix the cat and the maiden: Mary-Jane!’

‘ ‘Pon my honour,’ he laughed artificially, ‘you can chill the most feverish desire, O Snow Queen.’

‘I’ve been well schooled.’

The fog had lifted a little, but it was still gloomy. And soporific. Until the languorous mood was brutally interrupted by yelling and the thudding of hooves. Some horsemen rushed out from behind a clump of oaks they had just passed.

The two of them reacted as quickly and as smoothly as if they had been practicing it for weeks. They spurred and reined their horses around, breaking into a gallop, a furious dash, pressed to their horses’ manes, urging their mounts on with shouts and kicks of their heels. Above their heads crossbow bolts whirred, and up came a shouting, a clanging and a thudding of hoofbeat.

‘Into the trees!’ Hotspurn yelled. ‘Turn into the forest! Into the undergrowth.’