The sorceress Keira Metz was petite, with long light-blonde hair and hazel eyes. Along with Triss Merigold, she served as a royal advisor to King Foltest of Temeria.
Keira also had a hidden identity, she was a member of the Lodge of Sorceresses.
In the laboratory, the megascope kept humming, signaling that a face-to-face conference was waiting for her. So even though she had not had enough sleep, she still had no choice but to get up and make herself presentable.
At the tops of three brass pillars, the crystals of the megascope formed a triangular spell array. Once activated, the mirage it conjured allowed distant people to speak with her face-to-face.
The moment she saw who had called the meeting, Keira could not help complaining. "Oh, my dear Phil, couldn't you have waited until noon to gather everyone? It's only seven in the morning. Gods, I really regret not taking the crystal apart before bed, then I could honestly say I never heard it..."
Inside a lavishly furnished room in the Redanian palace, the crystals on the three megascope pillars resonated with a low hum.
Philippa, dark-haired and brown-eyed, paid no mind to Keira's muttering. They had known each other for many years, long enough for her to tell at a glance when the other woman was truly angry and when she was only acting spoiled.
And Keira was right. Philippa certainly could have waited until after noon to convene the meeting, but she had decided to deal with it before the morning's official business began. Otherwise, a few hours later, she felt her reason would dismiss the concern that seemed important now.
"My dear Keira, I'll explain the reason, but please be patient. It isn't urgent, so we'll begin in five minutes."
The ripples in the megascope suddenly shifted, revealing a setting full of laboratory tools and preserved corpses.
The woman who appeared on screen, with black hair and black eyes, was Síle de Tansarville, royal advisor to Kaedwen. As always, her hairstyle was explosively awful, after all, very few people would ever want to wear two boots on top of their head.
And her appearance made Keira stop complaining and wipe the smile off her face, because this stern woman cared too much about appearances and was quick to anger. Keira had no interest in provoking her.
When chatting privately with Triss, Keira called Síle "an old woman starved for affection." She was actually very beautiful, but between that hairstyle and the stiff, angry expression she wore, even the most shameless lecher would wither on the spot. Probably only the legendary Megatron could do anything for her.
And thinking of Megatron made Keira deeply curious. That potion was absurdly strong, ordinary aphrodisiacs could not even begin to compete with it. Sadly, she had no ties to the Temple of Melitele, otherwise she would have loved to know how it was made.
While Keira's imagination wandered, Philippa and Síle exchanged a few simple greetings.
Then the megascope first shifted to a room decorated in Nilfgaardian style. This was the imperial court sorceress Assire var Anahid, holding her pet, a black cat named Merlin.
Next came Dol Blathanna, homeland of the elves, where Duchess Francesca Findabair, Daisy of the Valley, appeared, publicly acknowledged as the most beautiful woman in the world, with a history stretching back several centuries.
And then Aretuza, where the rector Margarita Laux-Antille came into view. Of all of them, she was dressed the most like a sorceress. Compared to the magnificence of her figure, even marble statues of goddesses and nymphs would have felt ashamed.
Looking at these outstanding women, each in a high position in a different kingdom, Philippa Eilhart felt a surge of pride.
Yes, every one of them had joined the Lodge of Sorceresses at her invitation, and this was not even all of them.
She coughed twice to draw their attention. Philippa Eilhart, Jewel of the Court at Tretogor, spoke. "Ladies, let us begin the meeting. Though a few of our sisters could not attend, I will inform them later when the opportunity arises.
"The matter is this, yesterday I received a prophecy..."
She then briefly recounted the entire process by which she had obtained The Burning Omen.
After hearing it, the air fell quiet for a moment.
"...Phil, I don't want to say this, but I think this meeting is a mistake," Síle said seriously, breaking the silence.
Then came a soft snort of laughter from Rector Margarita, whose status and power allowed her such liberties. "The Burning Omen? That prophecy from the Dragonborn boy? You're serious?"
For their own separate reasons, neither Keira nor Assire spoke, but even without openly rejecting the idea, silence itself was a form of opinion.
"Let's wait a moment. Please, ladies, be a little more patient. I'm sure there must be a reason our owl has taken this so seriously," said Francesca Findabair, youthful and beautiful in appearance.
Calm and composed, Philippa lightly tapped the table and reclaimed everyone's attention. "Ladies, regarding Dovahkiin Victor Corion, I must first admit that I have already made two mistakes where he is concerned.
"The first was when Bran died. At the gates of Kaer Trolde, Síle, Keira, and I already knew the Dragonborn's name, yet we casually overlooked it and passed him by. In the end, the facts proved that he was the true final force behind the selection of Skellige's ruler."
Síle, having been named directly, remained completely unmoved. Keira turned her head aside and rubbed her ear, feeling a little guilty. She had not merely missed him, she had even been invited to act alongside him, though she had turned him down.
"And the second happened not long ago, thanks to Lady Assire's generosity." At that, Philippa inclined her head slightly toward the Nilfgaardian sorceress, who returned the gesture.
"She informed us of the full details behind the Skellige royal election, including the possibility that the Dragonborn can glimpse scattered fragments of the future."
Rector Margarita, who had not attended the earlier meeting and did not know these details, pressed a fingertip lightly to her parted red lips.
"I should have paid attention, but private matters distracted me, and the other sisters did not take it seriously either. I do not say this to accuse anyone. However, by the time I heard of him again, two months had already passed."
Keira touched the zircon necklace at her throat in an unnatural little motion. She knew people had been paying attention to Dragonborn, not just herself. Triss was certainly watching that young boyfriend of hers too. But Triss had been away for a month and a half, and after returning she had been secretive all day long. It seemed that once this meeting ended, Keira would have to speak to her alone.
Philippa continued, "What shames me is that I only realized Victor was in Tretogor last night, when the little boy invited him to the palace. And my meeting with him brought me The Burning Omen."
After hearing the explanation, Francesca Findabair, Daisy of the Valley, elegantly raised a hand to her forehead. "...I think... I understand your thinking. Because of your past mistakes, you can no longer trust your own judgment when it comes to the Dragonborn."
Rector Margarita said, "So you want all of us involved, to study this shallow, childish, painfully obvious prophecy together, ah, and it does not even rhyme!"
"The important part is the Elder Blood," said Assire, who had remained silent for most of the meeting, as she set down the black cat Merlin. "He mentioned the Elder Blood, and we all know who that points to, Ciri. And he is Ciri's brother. I mentioned that in the previous meeting."
At the mention of Ciri's name, Síle's posture changed at once from indifferent to predatory. "Ciri's brother? Is that claim grounded in anything? We have studied the Elder Blood genealogy several times. There should not be some lost bloodline wandering around outside it."
"Relax. He is only a brother in name, there is no blood relation," Philippa explained. She knew Síle's fixation. They had once worked to arrange Ciri's marriage, hoping to bring the Elder Blood into a royal house, and Síle had been one of the most enthusiastic supporters. But that plan had collapsed before it even began.
Síle gave a cold snort. "Pah. What brother? He is obviously some stray mutt from nowhere. Does she think no one can tell? She would rather, "
"Enough!" Philippa cut Síle off sharply. "Do not forget that she too is a member of the Lodge of Sorceresses. You may be angry at her ignorance or her lack of judgment, but you have no right to try to humiliate her with your words."
Rector Margarita said lazily, "She is a good girl. Not yet mature, perhaps, but a good girl."
Síle de Tansarville placed a hand over her chest and gave a small bow.
Francesca stepped in to smooth things over. "What is past is past. The little girl will grow up in the end. Perhaps by now she understands the good intentions we once had.
"And there is no denying that the Elder Blood, with its immense magical potential, still matters greatly to the future of magic. In some extreme turn of events, she may even already be pregnant, with this so-called Dragonborn prophet as the father.
"Most importantly, this Dovahkiin has already used his foresight to elevate Cerys an Craite to the throne of Skellige.
"So even if the prophecy is childish, I agree that exchanging views on The Burning Omen is worthwhile.
"I'll start us off. First, the line 'when Whoreson dies.' As far as I know, Whoreson sounds like the Common Speech insult for a son of a whore. But if it meant only the insult, it would point to no one. So it should mean there is an actual person called Whoreson.
"Among the nobles and rulers of the realms, I have never heard that name. Though it could perhaps be a nickname rather than a given name."
A sudden laugh burst out from Rector Margarita. When she laughed, it was an overwhelming sight. "Sorry, I just think someone actually using 'son of a whore' as a name is very creative."
Hearing the rector's explanation, Keira could not help giggling along.
Philippa smiled as well, then raised one finger and gently wagged it. "It isn't that complicated. This is a family disgrace of sorts, but there's no harm in telling our sisters.
"Novigrad's autonomy is an established reality. On the surface it is ruled by Hierarch Hemmelfart of the Eternal Fire, but underneath, four criminal syndicates each control their own turf. One of those bosses is Alonso 'Whoreson' Wiley."
Assire nodded in satisfaction. "That identity is important enough to be included in a prophecy. Philippa, since you proposed the discussion, I assume you already have a complete line of thought. Please continue, and do not let our regional ignorance make fools of us."
Francesca opened her palm and yielded the floor.
Shaking her head, Philippa spoke clearly. "There is not much to it, really. There are only three preconditions. First, Whoreson in Novigrad dies, which could refer to old Whoreson, young Whoreson, or both.
"Second, Temeria burns, likely a fire or an uprising.
"As for the third line, the White Wolf, my instinct says it is Geralt of Rivia. As an answer connected to Ciri, it is almost impossible to imagine any other possibility. But he died two years ago in Rivia, so if he is to awaken, does that mean he will rise from the dead?"
At that last line, Keira's heart suddenly raced. If she wanted an explanation for Triss's recent odd behavior, Geralt was a million times more likely than that young boyfriend Victor.
Each of them was lost in her own thoughts for a while.
"It does not hold together. At present, this is a useless prophecy," Síle said as she adjusted the fur collar at her neck. "Unless Geralt rises from the dead."
Francesca added, "And the other two conditions, Whoreson might die today, or a hundred years from now. As for Temeria burning, does that mean only the capital, Vizima? Or the whole realm?"
Her words caused even Philippa, who had been certain of her own judgment, to waver slightly.
Margarita clapped lightly, smiling all the while. "Ah, marvelous. From that angle, thanks to all your hard work, The Burning Omen is finally beginning to resemble a prophecy, mysterious, ambiguous, impossible to prove. Perhaps I can even improve the rhyme for it?"
The room's mood immediately brightened. Several of the sorceresses covered their mouths and laughed, and even Philippa herself smiled.
Síle still looked stern, but the slight lift at the corner of her mouth showed that she was in a better mood now and had forgotten the earlier unpleasantness. "Let us simply watch what follows. At the very least, we will all pay more attention to this Dragonborn from now on. Phil, is he still in Tretogor?"
"No. He rode out at dawn this morning, heading south, most likely. I only decided to call this meeting after receiving that report and thinking it over again and again."
Assire said, "One more detail. As far as I know, de Rideaux has already accepted orders and begun investigating this Dovahkiin."
The name of the intelligence chief, Vattier de Rideaux, made every face in the meeting grow three shades graver in an instant. The man himself was one thing, but his movements represented the will of Emperor Emhyr var Emreis.
Narrowing her eyes, Francesca elegantly lifted her teacup. "On the bright side, if Emhyr is interested in him too, then at least all this discussion has not been a waste of time."
Just then, there came a knock at Philippa's door.
Jewel of the Court at Tretogor, Philippa, rose and gave an elegant bow. "Please wait a moment, ladies. It must be something extremely important, otherwise I had already ordered that I not be disturbed."
She cast a spell to shroud the megascope, stepped away briefly, then soon returned with a document in hand. As she read, her expression shifted back and forth.
Staring at the paper, Philippa spoke in a strange tone. "Ladies, on the bright side, we are witnessing history, the way a prophecy can bring itself to pass. But I am beginning to suspect this is all one giant fraud... and that I have misjudged things for the third time."
"Oh? What happened?" Síle asked.
"Whoreson is dead. More precisely, old Alonso Whoreson Wiley is dead. Three days ago, on his way to attend a poetry recital, he was murdered by his own son, Cyprian Wiley II." Setting down the document, Philippa wore a faintly contemptuous smile. "He is now being called 'Whoreson II.'"
"So The Burning Omen is an instant-activation prophecy? With a curse effect attached?" Margarita muttered under her breath.
Assire picked up the black cat Merlin, bowed, and excused herself.
Francesca inclined her head and cut the connection.
Síle and Keira left one after the other.
And so the megascope meeting that morning came to a hasty end.
...
A few days later, carrying both The Burning Omen prophecy and the news of Whoreson's death, Viscount de Rideaux knocked on the door to the audience chamber.
He had a feeling that this astonishingly worthless bit of intelligence would earn him a scolding, but since it concerned Ciri, he still had no choice but to report it.
//Check out my P@tre0n for 30 extra chapters //[email protected]/Razeil0810