𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐌'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐘 † THE WITCHER (ORIGINAL)

𝖎𝖝. 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔯𝔦𝔡𝔞𝔪 𝔲𝔩𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔞𝔱𝔲𝔪 (𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔱𝔴𝔬)

"I do," said Geralt in a gentler voice. He relaxed slightly, genuinely pleased that there was a chance to talk this through even if he didn't believe much could be accomplished. He felt the need to say as such, "Except that I don't know what talk can achieve. The situation's clear. Stregobor is in his tower, and you'd have to lay siege to it in order to get to him. If you do that, your letter of safe conduct won't help you. Audoen won't defend you if you openly break the law. The alderman, guards, the whole of Blaviken will stand against you."

"The whole of Blaviken would regret standing up to me." Renfri smiled, revealing a predator's white teeth. It was eerie. "Did you take a look at my boys? They know their trade, I assure you. Can you imagine what would happen in a fight between them and those dimwit guards who keep tripping over their own halberds?"

Geralt, in contrast, frowned. "Do you imagine I would stand by and watch a fight like that? I'm staying at the alderman's, as you can see. If the need arises, I should stand at his side."

"I have no doubt"—Renfri grew serious—"that you will. But you'll probably be alone, as the rest will cower in the cellars. No warrior in the world could match seven swordsmen. So, white-hair, let's stop threatening each other. As I said: slaughter and bloodshed can be avoided. There are two people who can prevent it."

The witcher wanted to laugh at her assumption, but thought better of it. "I'm all ears."

"One," said Renfri, "is Stregobor himself. He leaves his tower voluntarily, I take him to a deserted spot, and Blaviken sinks back into blissful apathy and forgets the whole affair."

"Stregobor may seem crazy," Geralt remarked, "but he's not that crazy."

"Who knows, witcher, who knows?" Renfri shrugged nonchalantly, like his answer didn't matter. "Some arguments can't be denied, like the Tridam ultimatum. I plan to present it to the sorcerer."

His curiosity was piqued. "What is it, this ultimatum?"

Her smile grew vicious. "That's my sweet secret."

"As you wish." Geralt knew pressing her for more would only result in an endless circle. "But I doubt it'll be effective. Stregobor's teeth chatter when he speaks of you. An ultimatum which would persuade him to voluntarily surrender himself into your beautiful hands would have to be pretty good. So who's the other person? Let me guess."

"I wonder how sharp you are, white-hair."

Geralt continued without pause. "It's you, Renfri. You'll reveal a truly princely—what am I saying, royal magnanimity and renounce your revenge. Have I guessed?"

Renfri threw back her head and laughed, covering her mouth with her hand. Then she grew silent and fixed her shining eyes on the witcher. "Geralt," she said, "I used to be a princess. I had everything I could dream of. Servants at my beck and call, dresses, shoes. Cambric knickers. Jewels and trinkets, ponies, goldfish in a pond. Dolls, and a doll's house bigger than this room. That was my life until Stregobor and that whore Aridea ordered a huntsman to butcher me in the forest and bring back my heart and liver. Lovely, don't you think?"

"No. I'm pleased you evaded the huntsman, Renfri."

"Like shit I did. He took pity on me and let me go. After the son of a bitch raped me and robbed me first."

Geralt, fiddling with his medallion, looked her straight in the eyes. She didn't lower hers. There wasn't much he found he could say.

"That was the end of the princess," she continued. "The dress grew torn, the cambric grew grubby. And then there was dirt, hunger, stench, stink and abuse. Selling myself to any old bum for a bowl of soup or a roof over my head. Do you know what my hair was like? Silk. And it reached a good foot below my hips. I had it cut right to the scalp with sheep-shears when I caught lice. It's never grown back properly."