Chapter 51: THE SPRING THAW
Ciri stood in the center of the training chamber, hands raised, face set with concentration.
Power gathered around her—visible now as a golden shimmer, Elder Blood responding to disciplined will. She held it for one breath, two, three—then released it toward the target dummy in a controlled burst.
The dummy's head exploded. Just the head. The body stood untouched.
"Precision targeting," Yennefer said, something like approval in her voice. "Excellent. Again—this time, the left arm only."
Ciri gathered power again. The shimmer built, compressed, directed. The dummy's left arm shattered into splinters while the rest remained intact.
"Better than excellent." Yennefer actually smiled. "You're learning."
From the doorway, Geralt and I exchanged glances. Our girl was growing.
"She's progressed remarkably," Yennefer said later, joining us in Vesemir's study. "Three months ago, her power was a storm waiting to destroy everything around her. Now she can aim it, contain it, release it on command. It's not perfect—she still loses control under extreme stress—but for basic applications, she's competent."
"Basic applications." Geralt's voice was dry. "You mean she can only destroy furniture intentionally now."
"Furniture. Practice dummies. Small structures." Yennefer's smile was sharp. "Give her another six months, and she'll be able to destroy people intentionally too."
"Is that something we want?"
"It's something she'll need. The world hunting her won't wait for her to develop ethics."
The messenger arrived at sunset.
He was old—one of Vesemir's contacts from before the keep's fall, a spy network that stretched across the Northern Kingdoms. His horse was exhausted, his face was grim, and the news he carried was worse than expected.
"Nilfgaard hasn't stopped," he said, accepting wine with trembling hands. "Their agents are everywhere—Oxenfurt, Novigrad, even Redania's capital. They're paying bounties for information about the Cintran princess. Massive bounties. The kind that make honest men reconsider honesty."
"We knew they wouldn't stop hunting." Geralt's voice was flat. "That's why we're here."
"There's more." The messenger hesitated. "Someone in the Northern Kingdoms is selling information to Emhyr. Specific information—sightings, movements, safe houses. The intelligence is too accurate to be rumor."
Vesemir's expression darkened. "A traitor."
"Multiple traitors, likely. The rewards Nilfgaard offers are substantial." The messenger drained his wine. "There's talk that the Cintran princess is in the Blue Mountains. Nothing confirmed—the keep's location is still secret—but the search is narrowing."
Silence fell over the study. I could feel Ciri's fear before I saw it—she'd been listening outside the door, despite instructions to rest.
"Come in," I said quietly.
She entered, pale but composed. "I heard."
"You shouldn't have—"
"I should have." Her chin lifted. "It's my life they're discussing. My fate. I have a right to know."
Geralt looked at Yennefer. She nodded slightly. Ciri was right.
"So what do we do?" Ciri asked. "Stay here until they find us? Run again?"
"Those are options," Vesemir said carefully. "The fortress can be defended against almost anything. But not forever, and not against unlimited resources. Nilfgaard's armies are vast."
"We could split up." Geralt's voice was reluctant. "Scatter in different directions, confuse the pursuit."
"Separate the very people protecting her?" Yennefer shook her head. "That plays into their hands. They want us divided."
"Then what?"
I'd been thinking about this since the messenger arrived. Since before, really—since I'd understood that Nilfgaard's hunt would never stop on its own.
"We change the story," I said.
Everyone turned to look at me.
"My power runs on belief. If enough people believe something, it becomes... real, in a way. Not physically, but functionally." I met their eyes. "What if we convinced the Continent that Ciri is dead? Or that she's somewhere else entirely—Skellige, or the far south, or beyond the sea? If the false information spreads widely enough, if enough people believe it..."
"The searchers would follow the lies instead of the truth," Yennefer finished. "A misinformation campaign."
"Exactly. I've shaped perception before—'Toss a Coin' changed how the world sees Witchers. This would be the same principle, applied strategically."
Vesemir frowned. "You're suggesting we fight espionage with... songs?"
"With stories. With rumors. With carefully placed information that contradicts the truth." I spread my hands. "I can't destroy Nilfgaard's armies. But I can make them chase shadows."
"It could work," Yennefer said slowly. "If the false information is compelling enough, detailed enough, spread widely enough. It would need to start far from here—places the searchers haven't reached yet."
"Novigrad," I suggested. "The city has the largest concentration of travelers, merchants, gossips on the Continent. Information that starts there spreads everywhere."
"You'd need to travel there. Show yourself. Perform."
"Yes."
"It's dangerous. The same spies hunting Ciri would notice a famous bard spreading convenient rumors."
"Then I'd need protection. Someone who can handle magical threats, political complications, and extremely annoying situations." I met Yennefer's eyes. "Know anyone who fits that description?"
She held my gaze for a long moment. Something passed between us—calculation, attraction, the memory of almost-touches by the hot springs.
"I might know someone," she said.
The decision crystallized over dinner.
Geralt would stay at Kaer Morhen with Ciri—protecting her physically, continuing her Witcher training. Vesemir and the other Witchers would reinforce defenses, prepare for potential siege.
Yennefer and I would travel south together, beginning the misinformation campaign in Novigrad before spreading to other major cities. We'd return before winter—or send word if circumstances changed.
"You're leaving?" Ciri's voice was small when I found her after the planning concluded.
"For a while. To protect you." I knelt to her level. "Every false rumor I spread is a searcher who chases the wrong direction. Every lie that becomes truth is safety we buy for you."
"But you'll come back?"
"Always." I hugged her fiercely. "You're my daughter, Ciri. Distance doesn't change that."
She held on longer than usual. When she finally released me, her eyes were wet but determined.
"I won't run forever," she said. "Teach me to fight them."
"We are. In every way we know how."
Yennefer found me packing that evening.
"Ready for this?" she asked from the doorway.
"As ready as I'll ever be." I secured my lute case. "You?"
"I've been ready since I understood what Ciri represents. What's coming for her." She stepped into the room. "The question is whether you're ready for what this mission might involve. Beyond spreading rumors."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning we'll be traveling together. Closely. For months." Her eyes held mine. "The... tension between us isn't going to go away just because we're focused on work."
"I know." I straightened, facing her. "But Ciri comes first. For both of us. Whatever else develops—or doesn't—that's the priority."
"Agreed." She nodded, businesslike. "Then we leave at dawn. Pack light—we'll need to move quickly."
She turned to go, then paused at the door.
"Jackier?"
"Yes?"
"I'm glad you're the one coming with me." She didn't wait for a response before disappearing down the corridor.
I stood alone in my chamber, heart racing, wondering what the journey south would bring.
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