Inside the Imperial Palace of Nilfgaard, the City of Golden Towers, Vattier de Rideaux, Viscount of Eiddon, bowed and withdrew from the audience chamber. Under the awed gazes of the attendants, he dusted off his epaulettes and marched away with measured steps.
Today had truly gone badly. Monsieur Vattier was exhausted now. All his diligent work had failed to earn him an adequate reward, and had brought him nothing but His Majesty's rebuke, and he had not a word to say in his own defense.
"Effort is meaningless. What matters is results!"
There was no doubt about it, the penetration of Skellige had suffered a major blow this time. The pro-Nilfgaard faction led by Birna had been destroyed, and the new ruler belonged to the fierce Clan an Craite.
The one small mercy in all this was that the successor was Cerys rather than Hjalmar. At least she was not fond of raiding. He truly could not understand what islanders were thinking, putting a weak woman on the throne like that. Their future was doomed to decline.
A ruler ought to be strong, calm, rational, and merciless, like the one he served...
All who stood against the Emperor died in agony, their gravestones dug up and laid into the ballroom floor as a warning to every noble who came to attend a dance.
That was why he was called the White Flame Dancing on the Barrows of his Enemies.
Leaving aside the shadow of the failed assassinations, another problem troubling the viscount was the inexplicable annihilation of his intelligence networks in both Svorlag and Kaer Trolde Harbor. The entire line had collapsed from end to end without a single survivor. Given the one-way nature of the contacts, that meant a total exposure from the top down. The problem was that Vattier was certain he had not betrayed his own people...
Could it have been magic? The thought flashed through his mind, and Vattier resolved to find a chance to consult a sorceress, to ask whether there existed any spell that could instantly distinguish friend from foe.
According to his schedule, he still had another hour or two of paperwork to review, otherwise tomorrow he would be buried under pending documents. But his mood was so foul right now that the mere thought of it made him frown.
No. I can't do it, he thought. By the gods, I cannot do it. The work is not going to sprout legs and run away. I need to go home... no, not home. Let that woman wait. I'm going to see Cantarella.
Only beside lovely Cantarella can I truly relax.
Once his mind was made up, he did not hesitate. He changed direction at once, skipped his office, passed through the garden's back gate, and left the palace.
...
"When I saw the report I could hardly believe it, one man killed a giant and over a hundred sirens." Propped against a pillow, Vattier de Rideaux stretched lazily and continued to toy with Carthia van Canten's hair. "Tell me, my sweet, does that still sound human to you? The moment I read that report, I wanted to slap it straight across that bastard's face. To cover up their own failure, they actually fabricated some second coming of Hemdall to hand in as an explanation. Damn them! How dare they do that? Do they think hiding in Skellige means I can't touch them? Don't you agree, my sweet?"
Carthia van Canten, the girl nicknamed Cantarella, did not reply. Nor had Vattier expected her to. She was eighteen years old, a university girl, with golden hair and emerald-green eyes full of innocent confusion. She did not look particularly bright.
Her interests were limited to massage, giving Vattier massages, at least for the moment.
When it came to massage, Cantarella was unquestionably a genius. Her techniques and methods, combined with her enthusiasm and focus, could bring a client the height of pleasure. But to Vattier, that was not what mattered most.
Cantarella was quiet, sparing with words, and both willing and skilled at listening. At her side, he could say whatever he pleased, anything at all, and come away feeling as though his mind and spirit had both been refreshed. That was why Viscount de Rideaux had kept her in his long-term care.
"In our line of work, criticism is unavoidable," Vattier said bitterly. "But because of this Dovahkiin, the whole plan collapsed. God knows how the fellow pulled it off! Suddenly all across the North they're singing The Return of the Dragonborn, and then this Dragonborn pops right out of Skellige! It's simply..."
Vattier de Rideaux gave an angry snort and took the goblet Cantarella offered with both hands, filled with Toussaint's Est Est red.
The vintage reminded him of the distant past. Back then, Emperor Emhyr var Emreis had been nothing more than a humiliated little boy stripped of his inheritance, while Vattier de Rideaux had been a young intelligence officer of no importance within his department.
Those had truly been good years, for the wine, at least.
Vattier took a sip, played with Cantarella's slender fingers, and spoke again. The girl listened intently.
"Victor Corion, Dovahkiin," muttered the head of Imperial intelligence. "He's either a fraud or a schemer. He struts about under the banner of being Ciri's younger brother, and he may even possess some prophetic ability, considering that he succeeded in putting Cerys on the throne of the isles. And because of Ciri, His Imperial Majesty has taken notice of him as well. Next I'll need to arrange for a few people... to investigate his background thoroughly... and if necessary..."
As the viscount spoke, Cantarella loosened the sash of his nightrobe and bent down to begin the massage.
Feeling her breath, Vattier let out a slow breath of his own in a swell of pleasant anticipation. What a gift she had been born with, he thought. Then her soft, hot, smooth fingers touched his body, and every thought was driven from his mind.
Carthia van Canten slowly and skillfully displayed her gift for massage, bringing comfort to Vattier de Rideaux, the head of Imperial intelligence. This was not Carthia's only talent, but Vattier did not know that.
Of course he did not know that, though she looked rather foolish on the surface, Carthia van Canten in fact possessed an extraordinary memory and a keen, agile mind.
Every sentence Vattier told her, every tiny scrap of information, every word spoken during those massages, Carthia would later repeat, word for word, to the sorceress Assire var Anahid.
And Assire var Anahid belonged to the Lodge of Sorceresses.
...
"This is what we are. We all belong to this Lodge. We are like the Sphinx, silent, far-seeing, hidden and dangerous, mysterious, wise, and uncanny. We are full of power and courage. Fearless, eternal, and mighty. Yes, the Sphinx ought to become the emblem of our Lodge."
, Assire of Vicovaro
...
The Lodge of Sorceresses was a secret society made up of sorceresses. It had been founded under Philippa Eilhart's direction, an alliance of powerful female mages from both North and South, and so it was also known as the sisterhood of sorceresses.
They inherited the ideas of Raffard the White, believing that foolish kings needed their guidance, otherwise disaster would follow.
Thus, these court sorceresses who outwardly served as advisers to monarchs were, in truth, manipulators who disregarded nationality and personal creed alike, remaining loyal only to one another. Their one shared goal was to advance the interests of magic.
Keira Metz of Carreras was one of the Lodge's members. Finishing her spell on the megascope, she withdrew from the intelligence-sharing session.
The megascope was the sorceresses' communication tool. They could use it for face-to-face calls, and at fixed intervals, or in special circumstances like this one, they would hold remote meetings through it.
Keira was strongly dissatisfied with whoever was currently handling intelligence in Temeria. Roderick truly was no match for Thaler. Temeria was obviously closer than Nilfgaard, yet the result of Skellige's royal choosing had been delivered by Assire instead. It was downright disgraceful.
At the same time, she found it all rather strange. That perfectly ordinary Victor had somehow been transformed in Skellige mouths into the peerless hero Dovahkiin, charging through a storm of diving sirens to single-handedly cut down an ice giant, an epic monster of immense strength, naturally cloaked in magical frost armor, and boasting absurdly high resistance to both physical and magical attacks.
Even if his abs were hard, that had absolutely nothing to do with any of this. Islanders were truly hilarious, telling such absurd jokes with such solemn conviction.
Still, after laughing, she opened a portal and decided to go speak to the sorceress Triss in person.
When she stepped into Triss Merigold's residence in Vizima, the room was somewhat disordered. Clothes and magical tools had already been mostly packed away, and Keira looked surprised.
"You're going on a long trip?"
During the megascope meeting just now, Triss had indeed seemed distracted, only growing thoughtful when Assire mentioned Victor. Keira had originally wanted to ask her whether she knew what was going on with her young boyfriend, but instead she had arrived to find her packing.
"Mmm... something urgent has happened. I have to leave as soon as possible," Triss said.
Keira smiled. "Can I know what it is? Do you need help?"
Triss shook her head almost immediately. "No. It's personal. Rather than that, why did you suddenly come here?"
Keira thought of what she had originally intended to ask. Then, connecting that with the red-haired sorceress's haste, she instinctively assumed Triss also had no idea what had happened in Skellige and was hurrying off to find her young boyfriend.
"I can open a portal for you. You're going to find Victor, right? He should be in Kaer Trolde right now. The last time I attended Bran's funeral, I left a spell marker with Ermion for safekeeping. That way you can find him as fast as possible."
At first, hearing Keira's words, Triss was baffled. What did the place she needed to go and the business she had to handle have to do with Victor? Then she realized that Keira had most likely misunderstood. But after another thought, that misunderstanding was not bad at all. It could help conceal her real purpose, and bringing Victor along would not be a bad idea either. They would surely be delighted to see him.
Once she had thought it through, she cast a space-folding spell and instantly packed all her luggage into a little bag. "Then I'll take you up on that," Triss said.
Smiling, Keira cast her locating spell, and a milky-white portal burst open. Triss stepped through it.
...
The portal led directly to Kaer Trolde, near Ermion's laboratory. The location was free of interference from anti-magic metals and was part of a formally established portal route for diplomatic use.
So the moment the sorceress stepped out, a designated attendant came forward to receive her and notify the Great Druid.
Not long after, in the receiving room, Triss set down her teacup. "Thank you for the fruit tea. It's delicious."
Across from her, Ermion, Great Druid of the Isles, set down his own cup as well. "Think nothing of it. I have heard of your reputation. Merigold the Fearless arriving suddenly in Skellige, I feel honored to host so beautiful a lady."
"To be honest, I came here looking for Victor Corion, the one you call Dovahkiin." Triss keenly noticed that the instant she spoke the boy's name, a faint displeasure flashed across Ermion's face. What she could not tell was whether that displeasure was aimed at her or at Victor.
Ermion really was displeased. He had not expected a sorceress to come calling for Victor, had not expected that the boy, too, would fail to resist temptation.
Then, after another thought, he let it go. For a capable young man to be toyed with by a sorceress could count as a valuable life experience, hardly anything unusual. Hadn't Crach, in his younger days... even now he still thought of it as a pleasant memory.
With that thought, the druid said, "I would very much like to help, but regrettably, after the coronation, about twenty days ago now, Dragonborn Victor Corion already left the Skellige Isles and returned to the Continent."
Triss did not know whether Ermion was holding anything back, but she did know that the druid was Geralt's good friend. And since her reason for seeking Victor was not exactly a secret, she chose to speak plainly.
"I suspect you may have the wrong idea. The reason I'm looking for Victor is..."
They spoke for a while.
Before long, in Kaer Trolde's portal chamber, Ermion personally saw her off, and Triss opened another portal and went straight to her home in Novigrad.
Left standing there, the druid muttered to himself, "An age of frost, wolves, and snowstorms? Is Ithlinne's prophecy drawing near?"
...
The beautiful red-haired sorceress owned property in Novigrad, a tall detached house near Hierarch Square, kept in order by permanent servants.
After leaving Hierarch Square, she followed the address Ermion had given her and came to the area near Glory Lane, where she found Fergus's smithy.
According to Ermion, this smithy was Victor's property in Novigrad. When he had come to Skellige earlier, he had borrowed a batch of tools from Clan Tordarroch, so after leaving the isles he would presumably return here first to hand those tools back to the master smith.
Triss pushed open the door, and the hard-working Yoana was instantly stunned by her beauty.
Wiping her hands on her apron, she stepped a little closer, though not daring to approach too near. "Hello, milady. What can I do for you?"
"I'm here to find Victor Corion. I was told I could find him here."
Touching her thick golden braid, Yoana shook her head. "Sorry, we don't have anyone by that name here."
The sorceress blinked. "You're not very good at lying, and you are lying. Don't be afraid, I mean no harm. I truly have business with him."
Exposed in an instant, Yoana flushed and stammered a little. "All right. Victor said that if a red-haired lady came looking for him, I should ask her name first."
"Triss Merigold."
Hearing that name, Yoana slapped her thigh. "That's right, one of the three red-haired ladies. Please come with me!"
One of three red-haired ladies? So the boy knew several redheads? The phrase piqued Triss's curiosity. "May I know who the other two are?"
"No. Victor didn't authorize me to reveal that."
Bold and skilled enough not to be bothered by the refusal, the sorceress followed Yoana deeper into the back. As the door opened, she noticed the plaque hanging on it.
Victor's Alchemy Workshop.
It suddenly occurred to Triss that this little younger brother she had not known for long might actually be doing very well for himself indeed, and she smiled.
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