Chapter 59: Ciri Meeting #1 - The Banquet
The royal palace of Cintra was designed to intimidate.
Marble columns rose three stories toward vaulted ceilings painted with scenes of Cintran military triumph. The great hall stretched longer than most buildings, filled with dignitaries in expensive clothing, servants circulating with wine and delicacies. Everything projected power, wealth, and the confidence of a kingdom that had never been conquered.
I entered with Mira at my side, both of us dressed appropriately but not extravagantly. Our guild colors—deep blue with silver trim—stood out among the more elaborate court fashions, marking us as practical people rather than peacocks.
"Guild Master Colen of the Covenant of Blades," the herald announced. "And advisor."
The room's attention shifted briefly toward us—evaluation, categorization, dismissal by most. We were new, unknown, representing an organization that had risen rapidly but wasn't yet established in Cintran awareness.
Queen Calanthe sat on a raised platform at the hall's far end, her husband Eist beside her. Even seated, she projected the coiled energy of a predator waiting to strike. Grey streaked her hair now, but her eyes remained sharp, assessing every person who entered her domain.
"The guild master is young," I heard someone murmur nearby. "They sent a boy to represent them?"
"Or the boy built it himself," another voice responded. "That's the rumor from Redania."
I approached the throne with appropriate formality, stopping at the designated distance for presentations.
"Your Majesty. Thank you for the invitation to your court."
Calanthe's gaze weighed me with predator precision. "The Covenant of Blades. Your organization has been making noise across the continent. Monster hunting, merchant security, adventures in Temeria and beyond."
"We try to be useful, Your Majesty."
"And young. Remarkably young to command what you've built." Her tone wasn't hostile, but it wasn't warm either. Testing, evaluating. "How old are you, Guild Master?"
"Nineteen, Your Majesty."
"Nineteen. When I was nineteen, I was already queen. Perhaps youth and ambition go together." She gestured toward the gift table. "You've brought tribute?"
"Gifts, Your Majesty. Not tribute—the Covenant doesn't acknowledge overlords." I kept my voice respectful but firm. Calanthe appreciated strength; showing weakness here would earn contempt. "Tokens of respect from one independent power to another."
Her expression flickered—something like approval beneath the evaluation. "Bold words. Let's see if your gifts match them."
I presented the healing amulet first, explaining its function without revealing its source. "It provides passive healing enhancement—wounds close faster, illness recovers more quickly. No training required, no magical knowledge needed."
Calanthe examined the amulet skeptically. "Convenient claims. Can you prove it?"
"With your permission, Your Majesty. A small cut on my hand, healed within moments."
She nodded. I drew my belt knife and made a shallow incision across my palm—not deep enough to cause real damage, but enough to demonstrate the amulet's effect when she held it near the wound.
The cut closed visibly faster than natural healing. Not instantaneous—the amulet's effect was subtle compared to actual regeneration—but undeniably accelerated.
"Interesting." Calanthe's tone had shifted. "Where did you acquire such an item?"
"Trade connections that I maintain privately, Your Majesty. The guild has access to unusual resources."
"Mysterious." She set the amulet aside with careful attention. "And the other gift?"
The translation charm was less dramatic but equally impressive—I demonstrated by having Mira speak in Skellige dialect (which she'd memorized specifically for this moment), then translating her words accurately without apparent effort while holding the charm.
"A useful trinket for diplomatic correspondence," Calanthe observed. "You've chosen your gifts wisely, Guild Master. Practical items that demonstrate capability rather than mere wealth."
"We prefer to be useful, Your Majesty."
"So you've said. We'll see if actions match words." She dismissed me with a gesture that was more acknowledgment than rejection. "Enjoy the banquet. Perhaps we'll speak again before you leave."
Two hours of diplomatic maneuvering followed—conversations with minor nobles, careful positioning among competing factions, the endless social chess that accompanied formal functions.
I hated every moment of it.
Not because I lacked skill—years of organizational leadership had developed my ability to navigate political waters. But because every interaction felt like delay, distraction from the real purpose of this visit.
"She's here somewhere. I've seen glimpses—golden hair near the western balcony, movement in the corners of the room. But she keeps slipping away before I can approach naturally."
Finally, I took a calculated risk.
"I need air," I told Mira quietly. "The gardens should be accessible?"
"They are, but—"
"Cover for me. Tell anyone who asks that I'm handling guild business privately."
I slipped through a side door before she could object further.
The gardens were beautiful—manicured hedges, flowering trees, fountains whose water caught starlight. Empty, mostly, the guests preferring the warmth and wine of the great hall.
But not entirely empty.
A figure sat on a stone bench near the central fountain, silhouette unmistakable even in darkness. Golden hair. Princess bearing. Thirteen years old and already carrying the weight of destiny she didn't understand yet.
Ciri.
She noticed my approach, her posture shifting from relaxed to wary. "The gardens are supposed to be private during formal functions."
"I apologize. I was seeking escape from the diplomatic tedium." I stopped at respectful distance. "I can leave if you prefer solitude."
"You're the guild master. The young one everyone was talking about."
"Finn Colen. And yes, I'm young. People keep mentioning it."
"You walked away from the queen without being dismissed. That was either brave or stupid."
"Perhaps both. Your grandmother is impressive but the conversation felt concluded." I gestured toward the bench. "May I sit? Only if you don't mind company."
She studied me for a long moment—evaluation that echoed her grandmother's manner. "Fine. But don't try to be interesting. Everyone here tries to be interesting. It's exhausting."
I sat, maintaining appropriate distance. "I promise to be thoroughly mundane."
"That's what someone trying to be interesting would say."
"Then I've already failed. Perhaps we should discuss the weather instead."
An unexpected sound—she almost laughed, catching herself before the noise fully escaped. "The weather. Yes. Very diplomatic."
We sat in comfortable silence for a moment. The fountain's water provided backdrop sound, masking our conversation from any observers.
"Why are you really out here?" Ciri asked finally. "Guild masters don't escape diplomatic functions to stare at fountains."
"I find formal gatherings tedious. The same conversations repeated endlessly, everyone saying what they think others want to hear rather than anything genuine." I kept my voice casual, honest. "The gardens seemed preferable to another discussion about trade route tariffs."
"That's surprisingly candid."
"Would you prefer I lie?"
"Everyone else does. It's what diplomacy means—lying politely."
"Then perhaps I'm not a very good diplomat."
She turned to look at me directly. Sharp green eyes, the kind that saw through pretense. "Why did you really come to Cintra? Your guild doesn't operate here. You have no obvious business with my grandmother."
"Because you're the most important person on this continent. Because everything that matters in the coming years will revolve around you. Because I've traveled across time itself and this is my first chance to meet you."
"Establishing connections before we have obvious business is exactly how we create future opportunities," I said instead. "The guild has grown by being present in places before we're needed. When need arises, we're already known."
"That sounds calculated."
"It is. Most things I do are calculated." I turned to face her. "But I also genuinely wanted to see Cintra. The stories about this kingdom are famous across the continent. Sometimes curiosity is reason enough."
We talked for nearly an hour.
Nothing significant—court gossip, training complaints, the tedium of princess education. She mentioned her lute lessons three times, each reference carrying frustration that confirmed my gift choice.
"I should return," she said finally. "My grandmother will notice if I'm absent too long."
"Before you go—" I reached into my coat, producing the wrapped package I'd carried since Oxenfurt. "I brought a gift. Not official—just something I thought might interest you more than healing amulets interest queens."
She accepted the package with visible suspicion. "What is it?"
"Open it."
The wrapping fell away to reveal the skill book—slim volume, unremarkable appearance, title reading simply "Perfect Pitch."
"A book about music?"
"More than that. It's... difficult to explain. When you read it, you'll find musical things come easier. Pitch recognition, rhythm, the mechanical aspects of playing instruments." I kept my voice casual, as if this were trivial rather than calculated strategy. "I heard you mentioning lute lessons. Thought this might help."
"How would a book help with lute lessons?"
"Read it and see. If it doesn't help, you've lost nothing but time. If it does..." I shrugged. "Then perhaps you'll remember who gave it to you."
She turned the book over in her hands, expression caught between curiosity and wariness. "This feels like a bribe."
"Bribes come with expectations. This comes with nothing except hope that it's useful." I stood, preparing to leave. "I should return to the banquet before my absence is noted. It was genuinely pleasant talking with you, Princess."
"Ciri."
"Pardon?"
"Everyone calls me princess. My name is Ciri." She tucked the book into her dress pocket. "Thank you for the gift, Guild Master Colen."
"Finn. If you're Ciri, I should be Finn."
She nodded once, something like a smile touching her expression. Then she walked back toward the palace, the book hidden but not forgotten.
I watched her go, heart pounding with the knowledge of what I'd just begun.
"First contact. She has the skill book. She'll read it, notice the results, remember who gave it to her. Foundation laid."
The long game had started. Now came the hardest part: patience.
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