The White Werewolf || Season One: Ties That Bind

Chapter Sixty-Two

Rinde, 1256

Geralt leaned against the wall, his arms crossed as he watched over Jaskier. He was wearing the conjured clothes that Yennefer had given him.

As she entered the room, back in her white dress, still occupying Robin's body, he grunted, "These are a little tight."

She chuckled. "I believe I sized you up quite right," she disagreed.

He moved closer to the bed. The bard was breathing evenly, and his heartbeat was regular. All good signs. Still, Geralt was worried.

"Do you doubt my capabilities?" Yennefer wondered.

"No, just your intentions," Geralt muttered.

He swallowed heavily, then glanced at Yennefer. "Robin can hear us?" he asked for clarification.

Everything he'd seen so far indicated as much, but he had to be sure.

"Every word," Yennefer confirmed.

Geralt nodded. "I said some things to him," he confessed. "I'd like it not to be the last thing he remembers."

He'd explain more later if they all made it out of this alive. But he wanted Robin to hear it now, just in case. Because if it came down to making a sacrifice, he would be the one to bear that burden.

"He won't remember much if he's dead," Yennefer replied coldly.

Geralt turned and glared at her, making her laugh. "Oh, come now. It's a joke. He'll survive, and recover his vocal talents. Does that satisfy you?"

"Not in the slightest," he admitted. "But I'm not easily satisfied."

"Except when it's her," Yennefer countered, gesturing to the body she was currently in possession of.

Geralt's eyes widened as Robin's suddenly flashed, becoming hazel again for just a moment.

He didn't need more information to know that it was a warning.

Suddenly, he really looked around the room.

The seal from the djinn's amphora was on a nearby dressing table. The floor in front of the bed bore a rendering of that symbol surrounded by candles.

"It's the sign from the seal," he observed, the back of his neck prickling with dread as he moved forward. "I'll be taking Jaskier now."

"If you wake him before he's healed, the spell won't take," Yennefer cautioned him. "That's no way to treat a friend, Geralt."

"You want the djinn," he started, his mind racing as he replayed their earlier conversation. "But the amphora's broken. The djinn's already long gone."

She wanted the djinn, but it had no vessel. Once it granted Jaskier's last wish, it was free, and anyone who wanted to use it would have to trap it again.

And trapping a djinn was even riskier than fighting one.

The candles surrounding the symbol on the floor flared to life as he watched.

"Do go on," Yennefer invited him. "Tell me how stuff works. The djinn is tied to this plane and its master. How many wishes did the bard express before he lost his voice?"

"You need Jaskier to make his last wish so you can capture it," he said out loud, revealing his suspicions.

"So that's two, then."

"The djinn will fight you," Geralt insisted. "If you try and bend it..."

He trailed off. He could just let her fight it. If she lost the fight, she'd die, and then she'd no longer be a threat.