Chapter 46: THE SORCERESS QUESTION
"Absolutely not."
Vesemir's voice echoed through the study, hard as the mountain stone surrounding us. Ancient books lined the walls—centuries of Witcher knowledge, carefully preserved.
"Vesemir—"
"This fortress has kept its secrets for seven hundred years. I will not expose them to a sorceress." The old Witcher stood behind his desk like a commander defending a position. "The Chapte r has wanted access to Kaer Morhen since before the attacks that nearly destroyed us. Bringing one of their members here—"
"Yennefer isn't part of the Chapte r." Geralt's voice was controlled, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. "She was expelled. She has no loyalty to Aretuza or their politics."
"And that makes her trustworthy? A rogue mage with her own agenda?"
"Yes. Because her agenda is her own, not someone else's."
I stood near the window, watching the exchange. The morning light was gray and cold, filtering through clouded glass.
"May I speak?"
Both Witchers turned to me. Vesemir's expression suggested he'd forgotten I was there.
"Yennefer examined me once, years ago. She couldn't identify what I am—my abilities don't follow the patterns she understands." I chose my words carefully. "That frustrated her. She'll want to investigate again."
"And you're suggesting we invite that investigation?"
"I'm suggesting that her curiosity about me might be useful. If she's focused on understanding my powers, she'll be less focused on Kaer Morhen's secrets." I met Vesemir's eyes. "She's not here to study Witcher mutations. She's here to help Ciri—and maybe to satisfy her own curiosity about things that don't fit her worldview."
Vesemir was silent for a long moment. "You're offering yourself as distraction."
"I'm offering a practical solution to a valid concern."
"And if she learns something about you that you'd prefer stayed hidden?"
Then I'll deal with that when it happens.
"Some risks are worth taking for family."
The debate might have continued for hours. It ended in seconds.
Ciri's scream cut through the fortress like a blade.
We ran—Geralt first, then me, Vesemir following despite his years. The training yard spread before us, winter-empty except for practice dummies and the girl who stood among them.
Ciri was sobbing, hands pressed to her temples. Around her, the air shimmered with wrongness—heat without fire, pressure without weight. Her Elder Blood was manifesting again, worse than before.
"Get back!" I pushed past a training dummy as I approached, keeping my voice steady. "Ciri, I'm here. Listen to my voice."
I started singing—Calming Melody, pushing power into her chaotic aura. The shimmer flickered. Her breathing slowed.
Then one of the dummies exploded.
Not fire. Not force, exactly. Just... dissolution. One moment it was wood and straw; the next it was splinters and dust, scattered across the courtyard by power that shouldn't exist.
Ciri stood in the debris, tears streaming down her face.
"I didn't mean to. I couldn't stop it."
I reached her, pulled her into my arms. "I know. I know."
Over her shoulder, I saw Vesemir's expression.
He nodded once, grimly. Then turned and walked toward his study.
"Bring the sorceress," he said. "Before she destroys more than dummies."
The magical bird left at sunset.
Vesemir maintained communication with the outside world through methods I didn't fully understand—enchanted creatures that could carry messages across the Continent in days rather than weeks. The bird was small, nondescript, carrying words that would change everything.
Ciri needs you. Kaer Morhen.
Geralt's handwriting. Brief. Desperate.
I watched the bird disappear into the evening sky and felt anticipation and dread in equal measure.
She's coming. Yennefer of Vengerberg, with her violet eyes and her relentless curiosity. She'll study Ciri. She'll study me. She'll ask questions I can't answer.
And I'll have to find a way to give her enough truth to satisfy without revealing everything.
Behind me, I heard Ciri approaching. She stood beside me at the wall, watching the same sky.
"The sorceress. Will she help?"
"Yes. She's the best there is."
"Is she frightening?"
I thought about that first meeting in Rinde—the way Yennefer's magic had probed my abilities and recoiled in confusion. The way she'd looked at me with predatory interest.
"Terrifying," I admitted. "But the good kind of terrifying. The kind that makes your enemies reconsider."
Ciri almost smiled. "Like you."
"I'm not terrifying."
"You made Nilfgaardian soldiers run away with a song. Lambert told me."
Lambert told her? Lambert, who barely speaks to me?
"That's different."
"Is it?"
I didn't have an answer.
The next morning, I found the destroyed training dummy.
The pieces were scattered across a wide area—more damage than I'd realized in the heat of the moment. Whatever Ciri's power had done, it had been comprehensive. The wood wasn't just broken; it was shattered at a molecular level, reduced to fragments no larger than my thumbnail.
I started gathering the pieces. No magical solution here—just hands and patience and the simple satisfaction of useful work.
Ciri found me an hour later, helping without being asked.
"You don't have to do this," she said. "Lambert said he'd fix it."
"Lambert can fix the next one." I fitted two pieces of the dummy's frame together, checking alignment. "Besides, I need something to do while we wait. Nervous energy."
"You're nervous about the sorceress?"
"A little."
"Why? You've met her before."
Because she asked questions I couldn't answer. Because she'll ask them again. Because some part of me hasn't stopped thinking about her since Rinde.
"Because she's very intelligent and very persistent. She doesn't like mysteries she can't solve." I set down the frame and looked at Ciri. "When she arrives, she'll examine you—figure out what your power is, how to control it. But she'll also examine me. She noticed I was unusual when we met years ago, and she'll want to understand why."
"Is that dangerous?"
"Maybe. But it's necessary." I picked up another piece of the dummy. "Some things are worth the risk."
Ciri was quiet for a moment. Then: "That's the second time you've said that. About family being worth risks."
"Because it's true."
"But what if the risk hurts you?"
I stopped working, giving her my full attention. This wasn't a child's question—it was the question of someone who'd watched too many people she loved get hurt.
"Then I'll deal with it. And you'll help me, because that's what family does." I smiled. "Besides, I've survived worse than one curious sorceress."
"Have you?"
I thought about waking up in Julian's body, confused and terrified. About the bandits in the forest, years ago, who'd nearly killed me before Evasion Instinct awakened. About the Striga's claws raking my back. About Cintra burning while we raced to find her.
"Yeah," I said. "I have."
Ciri accepted this. She picked up a piece of the dummy and tried to fit it to the frame I'd assembled.
It didn't work. Wrong piece, wrong angle.
"Try that one." I pointed.
She tried. It worked.
We spent the rest of the morning rebuilding what her power had destroyed, and I started composing a new song in my head—something that captured truth without revealing too much, for when violet eyes demanded answers.
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