Chapter 58: SUMMER PEACE
Ciri's fishing line jerked, and she pulled up a boot.
"I don't think that's edible," I observed from my spot on the riverbank.
"At least I caught something." She examined the boot—old, rotted, probably decades in the water. "What did you get?"
"Three mosquito bites and a sunburn."
She laughed, dropping the boot back into the water with a splash. The mountain stream sparkled in the afternoon light, clear and cold and entirely devoid of fish.
"Maybe we should try hunting instead," she suggested.
"I hunt with words, not weapons. Geralt's the one for actual prey."
"Then we'll starve."
"We'll eat dinner at the fortress like civilized people." I reeled in my empty line. "This was about the experience, not the catch."
"The experience of failure?"
"The experience of a perfect afternoon with no responsibilities."
She smiled at that—the real smile, the one that reminded me why everything we'd been through was worth it. Twelve years old and still capable of joy, despite Nilfgaard, despite her power, despite the weight of destiny.
"Race you back?"
She was running before I could answer.
The summer months had been kind to Kaer Morhen.
Ciri trained in the mornings—magical control with Yennefer, combat with the Witchers, endurance exercises that would have broken most adults. In the afternoons, she was simply a child: exploring the fortress, playing with the few animals that wandered the mountain, pestering Lambert with questions he pretended to hate answering.
I composed new songs during the quiet hours.
One was about a princess with fire in her blood—metaphorical enough to seem like fiction, true enough to matter. Another was a love ballad that would never be performed publicly, too personal for audiences. A third was a drinking song that made Lambert actually laugh.
Yennefer spent her days researching. Two projects consumed her attention: her fertility curse—still seeking a way to reverse what Aretuza had done—and my powers, which continued to puzzle her despite months of study.
"You're getting stronger," she said one evening, reviewing her notes. "The Voice of Command responds faster now. Your Resonance has a wider range. Even your Evasion seems sharper."
"Is that good or bad?"
"It's interesting." She set down her papers. "Power that grows with use rather than depleting. Power tied to belief and will rather than chaos. You're a new kind of magic, Jackier. Something the Continent hasn't seen before."
"I prefer to think of myself as unique rather than unprecedented."
"Those mean the same thing."
"One sounds more flattering."
She smiled—the private smile she reserved for moments when we were alone. "You're insufferable."
"Part of my charm."
Our nights belonged to each other.
Not always physically—sometimes we just talked, curled together in her quarters while moonlight silvered the windows. She told me things she'd never told anyone: the childhood that had been stolen, the brothers she'd lost, the centuries of loneliness that had hardened her into armor.
I told her what truth I could. The awakening of powers I didn't understand. The choice to protect rather than conquer. The love for Geralt and Ciri that had become the foundation of my existence.
I didn't tell her about transmigration. That secret remained locked behind walls even intimacy couldn't breach.
"I love you." The words came out one night without planning—just truth, rising from somewhere deep.
Yennefer went very still.
The silence stretched. I prepared myself for rejection, for the careful evasion she used when emotions threatened to overwhelm her.
"I love you too."
Barely a whisper. Almost unwilling. But real.
I pulled her closer, and she let me, and for a moment the universe contained nothing but the two of us and the impossible fact that we'd found each other.
The warning came at week's end.
Vesemir's contacts—the network of spies and informants he'd maintained since before the keep's fall—sent word through magical channels. Nilfgaardian forces were massing in the south again. Emhyr's patience was wearing thin.
But that wasn't the worst of it.
"Vilgefortz," Vesemir said, the name landing like a stone in still water. "A mage. Powerful. He's taken a personal interest in Elder Blood."
I felt my blood run cold.
Vilgefortz. The name echoed through memories that weren't mine—a show I'd watched, a story I'd absorbed, the villain who had nearly destroyed everything.
"Who is he?" Geralt asked.
"Brotherhood of Sorcerers. Ambitious, brilliant, and utterly ruthless." Vesemir's expression was grim. "If he's hunting Ciri, we have problems that swords and songs can't solve."
"Yennefer?" Geralt looked at her. "You were part of the Brotherhood once."
"I know of him. Powerful enough to challenge Tissaia, charming enough to hide his true nature." Yennefer's voice was cold. "If Vilgefortz wants something, he doesn't stop until he has it."
I know, I thought but couldn't say. I know exactly what he's capable of. And I don't know how to stop him without revealing how I know.
Ciri was in the courtyard below, practicing sword forms with Lambert. Laughing at something he'd said.
The peace couldn't last. I'd known that from the beginning.
But watching her smile, watching the family we'd built go about their lives, I wished desperately that it could.
That night, Yennefer found me on the fortress wall, staring at stars.
"You're worried."
"Everyone's worried."
"You're worried differently." She stood beside me, close enough that our shoulders touched. "When Vesemir mentioned Vilgefortz, your face changed. Like you knew something."
Careful.
"I've heard the name before. In Oxenfurt, years ago—rumors about a mage who was rising through the Brotherhood. Nothing specific. Just... a sense that he was dangerous."
"And that's all?"
"That's all I remember."
She studied my face. Violet eyes that saw too much, saw things I couldn't afford to reveal.
"You're hiding something," she said finally. "You've been hiding something since I met you. Something beyond the usual secrets."
"Everyone has secrets, Yennefer."
"Not like yours." She didn't sound angry—just curious, and perhaps a little hurt. "I've accepted that you won't tell me everything. But sometimes I wonder what you're protecting. Yourself? Us? Something else entirely?"
"Maybe all of them."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the best one I have."
She sighed, turning to look at the same stars I'd been watching. "When you're ready to tell me, I'll listen. Until then..." She found my hand in the darkness. "I trust you. Whatever you're hiding, I trust it's for reasons I'd understand if I knew them."
"Thank you."
We stood together in silence, watching summer fade toward autumn, wondering how long we could hide from a world determined to find us.
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