wood?'
'My hand's trained to hold a sword! That's why!'
'Nonsense. Geralt has been brandishing his sword for his whole life and his fingers are agile and… mmmm… very gentle. Continue, my ugly one, try again. See? It's enough to want to. It's enough to try. Once more. Good. Shake your hand. And once again. Good. Are you tired?'
'A little…'
'Let me massage your hand and arm. Ciri, why aren't you using the ointment I gave you? Your hands are as rough as crocodile skin… But what's this? A mark left by a ring, am I right? Was I imagining it or did I forbid you to wear any jewellery?'
'But I won the ring from Myrrha playing spinning tops! And I only wore it for half a day-'
'That's half a day too long. Don't wear it any more, please.'
'I don't understand, why aren't I allowed-'
'You don't have to understand,' the magician said cutting her short, but there was no anger in her voice. Tm asking you not to wear any ornaments like that. Pin a flower in your hair if you want to. Weave a wreath for your hair. But no metal, no crystals, no stones. It's important, Ciri. When the time comes, I will explain why. For the time being, trust me and do as I ask.'
'You wear your star, earrings and rings! And I'm not allowed? Is that because I'm… a virgin?'
'Ugly one,' Yennefer smiled and stroked her on the head, 'are you still obsessed with that? I have already explained to you that it doesn't matter whether you are or not. Not in the least. Wash your hair tomorrow; it needs it, I see.'
'Lady Yennefer?'
'Yes.'
'May I… As part of the sincerity you promised… May I ask you something?'
'You may. But, by all the gods, not about virginity, please.'
Ciri bit her lip and did not say anything for a long time.
'Too bad,' sighed Yennefer. 'Let it be. Ask away.'
'Because, you see…' Ciri blushed and licked her lips, 'the girls in the dormitory are always gossiping and telling all sorts of stories… About Belleteyn's feast and others like that… And they say I'm a snotty kid, a child because it's time… Lady Yennefer, how does it really work? How can one know that the time has come…'
.'… to go to bed with a man?'
Ciri blushed a deep shade of crimson. She said nothing for a while then raised her eyes and nodded.
'It's easy to tell,' said Yennefer, naturally. 'If you are beginning to think about it then it's a sign the time has come.'
'But I don't want to!'
'It's not compulsory. You don't want to, then you don't.'
'Ah.' Ciri bit her lip again. 'And that… Well… Man… How can you tell it's the right one to…'
'… go to bed with?'
'Mmmh.'
'If you have any choice at all,' the enchantress twisted her lips in a smile, 'but don't have much experience, you first appraise the bed.'
Ciri's emerald eyes turned the shape and size of saucers.
'How's that… The bed?'
'Precisely that. Those who don't have a bed at all, you eliminate on the spot. From those who remain, you eliminate the owners of any dirty or slovenly beds. And when only those who have clean and tidy beds remain, you choose the one you find most attractive. Unfortunately, the method is not a hundred per cent foolproof. You can make a terrible mistake.'
'You're joking?'
'No. I'm not joking, Ciri. As of tomorrow, you are going to sleep here with me. Bring your things. From what I hear, too much time is wasted in the novices' dormitory on gabbling, time which would be better spent resting and sleeping.'
After mastering the basic positions of the hands, the moves and gestures, Ciri began to learn spells and their formulae. The formulae
were easier. Written in Elder Speech, which the girl already knew to perfection, they sank easily into her memory. Nor did she have any problems enunciating the frequently complicated intonations. Yennefer was clearly pleased and, from day to day, was becoming more pleasant and sympathetic. More and more frequently, taking breaks in the studies, both gossiped and joked about any old thing; both even began to amuse themselves by delicately poking fun at Nenneke who often 'visited' their lectures and exercises – bristling and puffed up like a brooding hen – ready to take Ciri under her protective wing, to protect and save her from the magician's imagined severity and the 'inhuman tortures' of her education.
Obeying instructions, Ciri moved to Yennefer's chamber. Now they were together not only by day but also by night. Sometimes, their studies would take place during the night – certain moves, formulae and spells could not be performed in daylight.
The magician, pleased with the girl's progress, slowed the speed of her education. They had more free time. They spent their evenings reading books, together or separately. Ciri waded through Stammelford's Dialogues on the Nature of Magic, Giambattista's Forces of the Elements and Richert and Monck's Natural Magic. She also flicked through – because she did not manage to read them in their entirety – such works as Jan Bekker's The Invisible World and Agnes of Glanville's The Secret of Secrets. She dipped into the ancient, yellowed Codex of Mirthe, Ard Aercane, and even the famous, terrible Dhu Dwimmermorc, full of menacing etchings.
She also reached for other books which had nothing to do with magic. She read The History of the World and A Treatise on Life. Nor did she leave out lighter works from the Temple library. Blushing, she devoured Marquis La Creahme's Gambols and Anna Tiller's The King's Ladies. She read The Adversities of Loving and Time of the Moon, collections of poems by the famous troubadour Dandilion. She shed tears over the ballads of Essi Daven, subtle, infused with mystery, and collected in a small, beautifully bound volume entitled The Blue Pearl.
She made frequent use of her privilege to ask questions. And she received answers. More and more frequently, however, she was
the one being questioned. In the beginning it had seemed that Yennefer was not at all interested in her lot, in her childhood in Cintra or the later events of war. But in time her questions became more and more concrete. Ciri had to reply and did so very unwillingly because every question the magician asked opened a door in her memory which she had promised herself never to open, which she wanted to keep forever locked. Ever since she had met Geralt in Sodden, she had believed she had begun 'another life', that the other life – the one in Cintra – had been irrevocably wiped out. The witchers in Kaer Morhen never asked her about anything and, before coming to the temple, Geralt had even prevailed upon her not to say a word to anyone about who she was. Nenneke, who, of course knew about everything, saw to it that to the other priestesses and the novices Ciri was exceptionally ordinary, an illegitimate daughter of a knight and a peasant woman, a child for whom there had been no place either in her father's castle or her mother's cottage. Half of the novices in Melitele's Temple were just such children.
And Yennefer too knew the secret. She was the one who 'could be trusted'. Yennefer asked. About it. About Cintra.
'How did you get out of the town, Ciri? How did you slip past the Nilfgaardians?'
Ciri did not remember. Everything broke off, was lost in obscurity and smoke. She remembered the siege, saying goodbye to Queen Calanthe, her grandmother; she remembered the barons and knights forcibly dragging her away from the bed where the wounded, dying Lioness of Cintra lay. She remembered the frantic escape through flaming streets, bloody battle and the horse falling. She remembered the black rider in a helmet adorned with the wings of a bird of prey.
And nothing more.
'I don't remember. I really don't remember, Lady Yennefer.'
Yennefer did not insist. She asked different questions. She did so gently and tactfully and Ciri grew more and more at ease. Finally, she started to speak herself. Without waiting to be asked, she recounted her years as a child in Cintra and on the Isles of
