The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Forty-Three

Road Past Blaviken, 1243

"Are we not stopping?" Jaskier asked pointedly, gazing at the towers of Blaviken in the distance.

They usually stopped in any town they passed, whether it was small or large. But Jaskier knew very well that Blaviken was off limits. He just wanted the one tale that Geralt had never told him.

Robin doubted that Geralt would suddenly be forthcoming. He'd never even told her what had happened in Blaviken, which was how she knew it had been something very meaningful to him.

She also remembered a tiny detail he'd let slip in bed one night. That it had involved a princess who had given him a scar.

She both wanted to know and didn't, so she wasn't going to encourage Jaskier this time.

Geralt growled, which was what both Jaskier and Robin had expected. But then he continued to speak, which was something neither of them had expected.

"I'm not welcome in Blaviken. And it hasn't been long enough since I was last here for the people to have forgotten what I did."

"And what did you do, exactly?" Jaskier wondered eagerly, pressing his advantage. "I've heard many versions, Geralt, but none from the horse's mouth, so to speak."

"I killed several men and one woman, and greatly angered their resident sorcerer," he answered shortly.

"Surely you don't think I'll be satisfied with that simple response?" Jaskier retorted.

"He doesn't have to talk about it if he doesn't want to, Jaskier," Robin admonished him.

She had landed on the side of not wanting to know, because the pain in Geralt's voice was obvious.

But his arm tightened around her and he shook his head. "It's all right, Robin. I don't mind, for once."

She almost protested again, but held her tongue. He obviously wanted them both to know. He wouldn't have indulged Jaskier otherwise. So, as much as she didn't want to, she was going to listen.

"Are either of you familiar with the Black Sun?" he began.

Jaskier shook his head as Robin nodded. "It was a curse prophesied by Eltibald, a mage who'd gone mad. He said that sixty girls born during the Black Sun would hail the return of the goddess Lilit and therefore the end of the world. They were all supposed to be royalty, and eventually violent murderesses," she remembered.

"Yikes," Jaskier muttered. "Talk about being born under a bad sign."

Geralt nodded ruefully as he picked up the story from her. "They were hunted down, mostly by wizards. In particular, a wizard in Blaviken called Stregobor. He killed many of them and cut open their bodies to see what he could learn. According to him, they were all mutated internally. Others were merely locked away to die, though some of them eventually escaped."

"Was he right, though?" Jaskier pressed Geralt. "Were they truly evil simply because of when they were born?"

Robin barked out a harsh laugh. "Then you might as well say I'm evil for being born with a talent for magic that affects the dead."

Jaskier's eyes widened as Geralt glanced at him and shrugged. "There is no clear determination, Jaskier," the witcher continued. "Some believe that the curse was self-fulfilling. That the girls ended up inflicting cruelty on others because of the cruel way they were treated themselves."

"That's not a bad theory," the bard agreed.

"There was only one girl left by the time I arrived in Blaviken and met Stregobor," Geralt continued. "Renfri. A princess. She was there and planning to murder him when I arrived to sell a kikimora I'd slain. Both of them wanted to hire me to kill the other."