Chapter Text
The day the news comes starts out like any other. She fixes a few minor ailments for assorted villagers and enlists several others to entertain her whims. Rinde has been a fine enough landing spot since she left Aedirn. It's not the glamorous life she expected to lead, but it's still better than being kept on a tight leash by an incompetent king. At least now she can make her own decisions without having to worry about playing the role of simpering advisor.
A messenger comes riding into town in the early evening hours and makes a beeline for the mansion she's commandeered. That's unusual in and of itself, but she starts when she sees the crest of Ban Ard on his tunic. Her defenses are up when he strides into the room, but he's harmless—not an ounce of chaos to him. She doesn't know whether to be relieved or insulted.
The messenger gives her a letter and doesn't bother waiting around for her to read it. She waits until he's gone before she slides a finger under the flap to break the red wax seal bearing Stregobor's insignia.
There's a single piece of parchment inside, and she unfolds it somewhat carelessly. Whatever Stregobor felt the need to send her holds little more than a passing interest.
All of that changes the second she reads the opening line.
Archmistress Tissaia de Vries, Rectoress of Aretuza, is dead.
The world spins around her and Yennefer sinks down onto the edge of the nearby bed. For a brief moment she thinks she must have hallucinated the words.
There is no way that Tissaia is dead. She can't be. She's like the mountains or the ocean, something that just is , ancient and unyielding and alive. It has never once crossed Yennefer's mind that there could ever be a day where the Rectoress wouldn't be there.
Alas, when she dares to look at the parchment again the words are still there, inked in a slanted script. Emotion bubbles up in her chest and she can't even begin to pick apart the individual feelings. There's rage, and frustration, and resentment—but also grief, and longing, and something too amorphous to name. It's a confusing, chaotic mess and she absolutely does not have the capacity to deal with any of it.
She forces herself to read further down the parchment, knowing that there must be a reason for the missive besides merely informing her of Tissaia's death.
With her passing, Stregobor shall take her place as the fifth member of the Chapter. All mages who are not currently on a sanctioned assignment are instructed to report to Ban Ard within a fortnight. Refusal to do so shall be met with harsh consequences.
She skims the rest after that paragraph but there's nothing else of substance. A frown settles on her brow as she takes in the new development. If Stregobor has ascended to the higher chamber, there will be no one to hold him in check with Tissaia gone. And if she refuses to bend to this new edict—and she will, of course, she has no intention of prostrating herself before Stregobor and pleading for mercy—there will be a target on her back. No more freedom to do as she pleases, and no real way to fight against the might of a Brotherhood under Stregobor's thumb.
The severity of the situation is just beginning to sink in when a flare of chaos alerts her that a portal is being opened into the mansion. Her first thought is that they've decided not to wait for the fortnight to pass and are going to kill her now and be done with it, and she readies herself to fight. She will not go quietly. But when the portal opens someone quite unexpected walks through it and into the room.
"Portalling straight into my bedchambers? Your manners have deteriorated, Triss." Yennefer relaxes back on the bed and the other sorceress rolls her eyes.
"Hello to you too, Yennefer." They've crossed paths many times over the years and have always had an amicable relationship. But Yennefer already knows there is more to this visit than a simple social call. The timing is far too convenient for anything else.
"I see you've received Stregobor's letter?" Triss tilts her chin at the parchment resting next to Yennefer on the mattress.
"Indeed. Hand delivered not ten minutes before you arrived," Yennefer scoffs. "Why are you here?"
Triss hesitates and Yennefer's interest is piqued. She wonders if this might be related to a long-ago favor she owed Triss for healing her after an unfortunate run-in with an assassin. It feels odd, but that's the only reason she can think of that Triss would come to see her in person, especially now.
"Tissaia asked me to come."
Yennefer blinks at Triss in confusion. She can think of literally no reason why Tissaia would have told Triss to come here. Plus—
"Isn't she dead?" It's a stupid thing to ask. Of course Tissaia is dead or Stregobor wouldn't be going off on a power trip sending threatening letters, but she thinks she can be forgiven. Her world has changed rather drastically in a very short span of time, after all.
As it turns out, though, it's exactly the right thing to ask, because instead of a simple 'yes,' Triss scans the room with a critical eye.
"Are we able to speak freely here?"
"Of course. I set the wards myself." Yennefer sits up straight, waiting to see where this could possibly be going.
"I don't think Tissaia is really dead." The words tumble out of Triss in a rush and Yennefer stares at her open-mouthed.
"So she what? Faked her death and was so good that she managed to fool some of the most powerful mages on the continent?"
Triss nods. Yennefer would laugh and assume this was a bad joke in horrible taste if it weren't for the serious look on the other mage's face.
"She...well, it's complicated. A lot has happened since you left," Triss says.
There's no trace of rebuke in her voice, and that's the only thing that lets Yennefer set aside her pride to reply, "Give me the short version."
"Stregobor has been trying to assassinate Tissaia for the last year."
It's blunt, and even though she asked for the short version that's maybe a little too succinct.
"Why would he do that? Tissaia could have killed him in a heartbeat."
"But she wouldn't," Triss says, shaking her head. "Not if it meant throwing the continent into turmoil. He's been plotting her demise for the better part of the last two centuries, but he's been smart about it. I begged her to kill him too many times to count, trust me, but she refused. Said he had too many allies and it would mean all-out war, and she wasn't willing to risk innocent lives."
"Since when did the great Tissaia de Vries care about ruining innocent lives?" The barb is out before she can stop it, but she only regrets it a little. She can still remember all too well looking into the pool at Aretuza and seeing the countless eels swimming in the iridescent waters. What had those girls been, if not innocent lives?
But Triss is giving her a sad, reproachful look that makes Yennefer feel as if she's done something wrong. She meets the other woman's brown eyes and doesn't try to take back the comment. Triss looks away first with a sigh. She sounds exhausted when she speaks.
"You knew a part of Tissaia, Yennefer. Not the whole. I won't tell you your feelings aren't justified, but I would ask you to trust my judgment when I tell you that she was more than the woman you saw at Aretuza."
Yennefer rolls her eyes but bites her tongue.
There are too many retorts on her lips to choose from anyways. Things like: A part of her was more than enough to tell me all I needed to know.
Or: How did you become so wise to the whole of Tissaia?
And perhaps the most painful one of all: If she was more than what she showed at Aretuza, then why did she never seek me out after I left?
This conversation is dredging up more of the emotions she'd felt when she first read the missive and she's tired of it. She just wants to be done with it all and figure out what to do about her life now that Stregobor is in power.
"You still haven't explained why you think Tissaia isn't dead. And why you're here." She gives Triss a pointed look that clearly says hurry up, my patience is wearing thin.
"Well, they go somewhat hand in hand. A few months ago, she made me swear to her that if something happened to her that I would come find you. And she gave me something to deliver to you when I did."
Triss reaches into her pocket and pulls out a small stone. It's a deep forest green with smooth edges. It fits neatly in the palm of her hand as Triss gives it to her.
"What is it?"
"She didn't say. Just told me I needed to give it to you when she died."
The phrasing catches Yennefer's attention and she looks closely at Triss.
"When?"
The other mage nods. "Yes. When, not if. That's why I'm not convinced she's really dead. Why else would she say that? Tissaia was never one to be unnecessarily fatalistic."
"But why give it to me?" Yennefer murmurs, half to herself. It doesn't quite make sense, there's something she's still missing—
"I think she meant for you to find her," Triss says. "Wherever she is. I think that's why she sent me to you with that stone. She knew something like this would happen, and she wanted you to come after her."
"But why? Tissaia hates me," Yennefer protests. She doesn't bother saying aloud that the feeling is mutual. It's not secret that there was tension between them, and she genuinely can't comprehend why Tissaia would want her to do this task and not someone— anyone —else.
Triss shrugs. "I'm sure she had her reasons." She meets Yennefer's eyes and holds her gaze unflinchingly. "Will you do it?"
Myriad emotions flicker through Yennefer. Her immediate gut reaction is to laugh in Triss’s face and say no. Why would she undertake a mission that's likely to be incredibly dangerous for a woman who hates her? It would be stupid and she rails against the notion that she would acquiesce to Tissaia's requests so easily after all these years.
But there's a part of her, buried deep down within herself, that desperately wants to believe that Tissaia is still alive. It's a way to avoid having to deal with the pesky feelings that arose when she read the letter—if the other woman is alive, she can stuff whatever feelings are there into a box inside of herself to permanently ignore far more easily.
She can't say that, of course, and certainly not to Triss. She has a reputation to uphold, after all. It wouldn't do for anyone to think she doesn't still hate the Rectoress. Luckily there's an easy solution that allows her to say yes and sidestep any personal feelings she might have.
"I'll do it." She holds up a hand to stop Triss from speaking. "But only because my life is going to be a living hell is Stregobor stays in power. That is the only reason I'm going to look for Tissaia. Once I find her and drag her back to fix this mess, then I can go back to living my life free of the Brotherhood, and free of her."
Triss presses her lips together but it's not quite enough to fully hide her smile. Yennefer gets the distinct impression that her performance might not have been fully convincing, but thankfully Triss doesn't push the matter.
"So, since you were apparently Tissaia's confidant, where should I start my search?"
"How should I know?" Triss says. "I figured you would have an idea."
Yennefer scowls. This is already turning into a headache. She doesn't know why she expected anything different from something connected with Tissaia.
"Fine. Anything else?"
Triss shakes her head. "No. But if I were you, I'd try to find her before the fortnight is up. I imagine things will get substantially more difficult after that."
What she really means is Stregobor will send assassins to bring him your head on a platter , but Yennefer appreciates the tact.
"I'll be in Aretuza if you need me," she continues. "King Foltest agreed that I could stay there until the transition is complete."
Yennefer nods, but she has no intention of going anywhere near Aretuza. This whole thing is bringing up plenty of painful memories as it is without opening that particular wound.
Triss opens a portal and casts a look over her shoulder before stepping through.
"And Yennefer? Be careful. Something strange is afoot, and I don't want you to be caught in the crossfire."
Yennefer resists the urge to say that she's more or less been shoved into the crossfire due to their conversation, knowing it's not Triss’s fault. The curly-haired mage disappears and the portal closes with a snap. Yennefer looks around the room, her brain already trying to make a list of the things she might need. She doesn't even know where she's going yet, which makes it hard to plan, and she flops back on the bed with a groan.
Fucking Tissaia and her mysteries.
She shoves herself to her feet after a second and starts throwing clothes into a pack. With any luck she'll find the other woman quickly, and she's rather looking forward to wringing her neck when she does.
###
"Where the fuck am I supposed to start?"
The question is a low growl as Yennefer paces her room. Morning light streams through the window and she's frustrated almost beyond words that she hasn't been able to do anything yet. She gathered the supplies that she needed, but for all her thinking she still doesn't know where to begin searching for Tissaia.
She'd tried to think of whether there was anywhere that might have some significance for the Rectoress, but she'd quickly given up that line of thinking when she realized that she knew precious little about Tissaia's life. Aretuza and the older woman's role there was more or less the sum total of her knowledge, and since she was obviously not hiding in Aretuza with Triss that left no other easy options.
She traces the labyrinth painting that hangs on the wall, her finger gliding along the pathway. A burst of inspiration strikes as her eyes follow the pattern. She might not know much about Tissaia's life, but maybe she doesn't need to. The other woman wouldn't expect her to know those things. What she would expect is for Yennefer to be able to trace the beginning of their relationship.
Her finger drifts from the labyrinth to the map of the continent that hangs beside it. Her nail comes to a stop when it rests on the little village labeled "Vengerberg." That was where they began, and perhaps that's where she needs to begin now. She doesn't fancy the idea of going back to the pigsty where the Rectoress bought her, but she doesn't have any better leads at the moment and she's going stir crazy without any direction. It's as good a place to start as any, and she grabs her pack and conjures a portal.
When she steps through the other side, she nearly coughs on the thick scent of livestock that hangs in the air. There aren't any villagers around, which she's grateful for. The last thing she needs is a throng of idiots clamoring for her to fix their bunions or whatever other inane issues they think she cares about.
She crosses the village on foot, making a beeline for the house where she spent the first years of her life. When she gets there she isn't sure whether to be pleased or saddened that the property is abandoned and fallen into disrepair.
Part of her was vindictively hoping her father would still be there and she could give him a proper "fuck you" for selling her like that all those years ago. It's stupid, she knows her parents probably died twenty years ago at least, but it takes her a moment to shake off the ghosts that linger in the collapsed buildings.
The fence to the pigsty is still standing—or at least leaning. Several of the posts have rotted and fallen over, but she can see the clear perimeter of the pen nonetheless.
She lets her fingers graze the coarse wood as she walks around the fence. The memories are coming fast and furious now, and she's so caught up in them that she almost misses it: a knot in the wood that's unfamiliar.
She stoops to examine it more closely and runs her fingertips across it. It's not large, barely half the size of her palm, but it's decidedly not supposed to be there. She'd spent too many hours to count in her youth staring at every single plank of wood in the pen, and she'd memorized each whorl and design in the grain.
There's always the possibility that someone replaced the post at some point, but no—she looks lower and there's a coin-sized dent a few centimetres above where the post enters the earth. Her father had drunkenly tried to kick her and she'd rolled away, leaving his boot to connect with the post instead of her head. He'd raged the rest of the night, but that dent in the post had always brought her a certain degree of satisfaction for the rest of her time there.
So, clearly it's the same post. Which means the knot is new, even though that makes no sense.
She can't decide whether she's irritated or impressed when she presses along the edge of the knot and it raises slightly. It pulls away with some effort to reveal a cache carved into the wooden post. There's no trace of magic, so Tissaia must have done this the old-fashioned way—assuming it was her.
It's a silly thought. Yennefer knows this is Tissaia's doing. Who else would put so much effort into something like this in a pig pen? She doesn't even have to see what's tucked in the post to know that it's bound to be something from the older mage.
Her fingertips dig inside the cache and brush against a bit of parchment. She pulls it out, hoping it will finally give her some answers about what the hell is happening, and she's promptly disappointed when she sees a single word etched on the paper.
Flotsam.
It's a small village on the border between Aedirn and Temeria. Half the major trade routes between the regions converge there, but she's never had occasion to visit. What she's heard is that it's not the friendliest of places, and there's also a bit of a problem with Scoia'tael units attacking anyone who strays too far from the ferried river crossings.
She sighs. Of fucking course Tissaia would send her into hostile territory. She flips the paper over and what she assumes is a name is scrawled there: Vele Ruget. Nothing else. No clues as to who the person might be, or why she needs to go to Flotsam, of all places.
"You couldn't fucking throw me a bone, could you," she mutters, frustration swelling in her. She starts to open a portal but something makes her hesitate before she finishes conjuring it. There's a thought nagging at the edges of her brain, just out of reach, but she knows it's important.
She glances back at the cache in the post and wonders why Tissaia wouldn't use magic to create it—or to hide it, for that matter. And then she remembers what Triss had said—that Stregobor has been trying to kill Tissaia for some time. She was too smart to leave a magical trail that would lead them right to her, assuming that was what her goal was with this whole endeavor. Which was great, but...
Yennefer groans. If it was that important for Tissaia not to leave magical traces, then that meant no portals from here on out. Her mood grows darker as she does some hasty mental calculations to determine how long of a ride it would be to get to Flotsam from her current location. If she finds a good horse, maybe two days if she doesn't stop to rest. More, if she gets stuck with an old nag.
She shoves the knot back into place in the post, just in case, and stomps off towards the village to look for a mount.
###
"Finally."
Her horse's ears swivel back when she speaks, but the animal doesn't break its trot. She hadn't managed to procure the quality of horse she would have preferred, but the grey she was on had been sufficient to get her to Flotsam in just over two days.
Still, after the luxury she'd become accustomed to in Rinde, two days on the back of a horse felt like some sort of torture. Her thighs ached, her lower back twinged with every step the horse took, and she was fairly certain that her calves were rubbed raw from jostling. She prays that whoever this Vele Ruget is will have a soft bed and a hearty meal when she finds them.
A prickle runs down the back of her neck and she glances over her shoulder before urging her mount into a canter. She'd managed to avoid any Scoia'tael patrols along the way, but she can feel them not far away. She has no desire to cross paths with them if she doesn't have to.
The village rises in front of her and she breathes a sigh of relief as they pass the guard house on the perimeter. She flexes her fingers on the reins and the horse slows to a walk, giving her time to scan the village for signs of someone who might be of use to her.
Her eyes land on an innkeeper standing by the front door of his establishment. He looks to be mostly sober, but perhaps just intoxicated enough to be talkative. She dismounts when she's a few paces away and leads her horse the rest of the way.
"Can I help you, young miss?"
His grin isn't lecherous, but she's still unimpressed. She loops the reins around a nearby post and decides it's not worth it to pretend to be interested in him. A little terror never hurts when it comes to getting information sooner rather than later.
"I need to find Vele Ruget."
He stares at her, his head tilted to the side in confusion.
"I'm afraid you might be out of luck," he says, shifting awkwardly on his feet.
"And why's that?" she snaps, taking some enjoyment from the way he flinches back at her tone.
"Well, because he was killed by the Scoia'tael not three moons ago," he stammers. "The fool went into the forest alone after imbibing in too much drink. The guards found what was left of him scattered along the forest boundary the next morning."
Yennefer almost growls at the man but contains her anger.
"You have food and drink inside?"
He nods, not daring a verbal response, and she shoulders past him. "Take care of my mount, I'll be here for a bit."
The inside of the inn is dimly lit, and she steps up to the bar and promptly signals for an ale. When the servant brings it, he asks, "Supper as well?" Yennefer nods and sets a few coins on the counter. The boy scurries off and she takes a long swig of the ale.
Nothing is ever easy. She makes it to this godsforsaken village only to find that the man she's come for apparently fancied a midnight stroll with the Scoia'tael. Why would Tissaia send her to find someone so idiotic?
The servant boy almost flings stew all over her in his haste to set the bowl down, and she waves him away so that she can eat in peace and try to figure out what to do next. There are precious few hours of daylight left, so she may be stuck at this backwoods inn until the morning if she doesn't think of anything else.
She's halfway through calling Tissaia every swear word she can think of what a question occurs to her. The innkeeper said Vele Ruget was killed three months ago, give or take. That's well before Tissaia disappeared. There's no way the Rectoress didn't know he was dead in the lead up to whatever it is that happened to her. So why would she still send Yennefer to look for him?
It hits her and she barely restrains herself from banging her head on the table in front of her. It's idiocy. Mages are not friendly with the Scoia'tael. They're unpredictable at best, twisted by years of fighting with the humans. She hears that most of them are elves, with a few dwarves for good measure, but she's never met them to find out for sure.
Well, that's about to change, she thinks grimly. Because that's the only reason why Tissaia would give her the name of a dead man who was killed by the Scoia'tael. She was never meant to find him; she was meant to find his killers.
###
Her fingers play over the green jasper that's tucked in her pocket as she walks silently across the forest floor. It's unnaturally quiet around her, and she can feel unseen eyes watching her. The air is heavy and dark. It was dusk when she set out from the village, and inside the heavy canopy of the trees there’s not even the light of the moon.
A twig cracks somewhere off to her right and she throws up a shield on instinct. It turns out to be a pretty good idea as six arrows bounce off of it a split second later.
"Wait!" she calls, holding the shield charm in place. "I'm not here to fight! I need to speak with you!"
There's no response, and she wonders if they've even heard her. The stone in her pocket feels heavier all of a sudden, and she grasps it and holds it out so it can be clearly seen.
"That is not a trinket one comes by casually."
The voice startles her enough that she almost drops her shield. A tall elf with light brown hair and a moss green tunic steps out from behind the trees and approaches her.
"I didn't come by it," she retorts. "It was given to me."
"By who, if I may ask?"
"Tissaia de Vries."
The name clearly means something to the elf. He looks at her thoughtfully before snapping his fingers. Four other elves are suddenly flanking her, but their weapons are lowered.
"You'd best come with me, then, and we can talk."
Yennefer hesitates. She doesn't make a habit of willingly going off with armed units, particularly when they're elves, but she doesn't see a way to politely decline. And besides, this is likely what Tissaia sent her here for in the first place.
She drops her shield and the elf in front of her nods approvingly. He turns on his heel and cuts a path deeper into the forest and she follows wordlessly. The trees grow denser, and a few times she thinks she catches the glint of eyes watching from the brush, but nothing happens. She's very much aware of the elves at her back. They may be content to let her enter since she's accompanied by the elf in front, but she worries that they might not be so inclined to let her leave.
The stone in her hand warms to the touch, and she hopes that it's a sign that she's not going to end up scattered across the village's doorstep in multiple pieces. That would be a rather disappointing end to her life after all that she's been through.
She hastens her steps as the elf cuts diagonally in a different direction. He hasn't looked back at her once, and she is close to calling out to him to ask where they're going when they suddenly break through into a small clearing. She looks around and can't help but be a little impressed.
Small huts are built in the trees, with rope bridges connecting them in the air. If someone didn't know exactly where to go and what to look for, they would be hard pressed to spot them tucked away in the dense foliage. There are spots where the faint torchlight glimmers and she realizes that there are stones like the one in her hand embedded in the wood and trees.
The elf motions for her to follow him as he climbs a ladder up into one of the huts. She tests the ladder a little skeptically before trusting her full weight to it, unused to being off the ground in such a way. It sways disconcertingly but seems otherwise sound, so she scales it with somewhat less grace than she would prefer.
The ladder ends on a small platform made of rough wood that leads up to the hut's door. She imagines it's the equivalent of a front stoop for houses that are built on the ground, and the elf opens the door and steps through. It's not in her nature to follow so much and with so little protest, but Yennefer swallows her objections down and enters the hut, taking a seat at the table when the elf motions for her to sit.
He prepares two cups of a pungent tea and then sits down across from her, sliding her one of the cups.
"So tell me," he says, "How do you know Tissaia de Vries, and how did you come to be here?"
It's a tricky question. How can she possibly sum up her relationship to Tissaia in a few sentences? There are decades of complexity layered in their every interaction, and she doesn't know that she could define their relationship even to herself. Anything she says now is made more complicated by the fact that she doesn't know what connection these elves have to Tissaia. They obviously know her, but do they like her? Or are they merely pretending niceties to lull her into a sense of false security?
As the seconds stretch into minutes, she drums her nails on the table before sighing and opting for the truth. "It's complicated. I knew her from Aretuza, but I haven't seen her in a long time. Years." There's a thread of unintended sadness in the latter part of her response that she shakes off. No use getting sentimental.
"And why are you here?"
"I think she meant for me to come here," Yennefer says slowly. "I don't know why, or for what purpose. But something has happened and I'm trying to find out the truth of things."
"The truth of things," the elf repeats with a small smile. "I think you'll find the truth to be a fickle and elusive thing, my good sorceress, especially this far from the hallowed halls of your kind."
Yennefer doesn't say anything in response, just waits to see if he'll offer any other information. He stares at her searchingly before nodding once to himself and murmuring, "Yes, yes I can see it."
"I am Tova," he continues more briskly. "I lead the Scoia'tael units in this area. Tissaia informed me some months ago that there might come a time when she would need to send someone to us for information and support."
"Information and support about what?"
He ignores the interruption. "She left me instructions to pass along the name of a town in Kovir: Inis Porhoet. That is where you are to travel to."
Yennefer's eyebrows raise. Inis Porhoet is the far northwestern tip of the continent. There's not much that can survive the climate there, and she can't fathom what Tissaia could possibly want from sending her there.
"Did she say why?"
Tova shakes his head. "No. Merely that haste is of the utmost importance."
She scoffs. There's no way to hurry to Inis Porhoet if she can't portal. And she doesn't think her current horse will be able to survive the journey, either.
As if he knows her thoughts, Tova waves a hand at a pile of items in the corner of the hut. "I have prepared the supplies you might find useful. We also took the liberty of procuring you a more suitable mount for the next stage of your journey."
Yennefer's eyes narrow.
"So I was right not to use chaos and portal." It's the only explanation for the Scoia'tael already knowing that she can't—or won't—just portal herself to Inis Porhoet. Tova shrugs.
"You certainly can. But it will make it far easier for the assassins on your tail to catch you."
"What assassins?"
He stands up and walks out of the hut, pointing down to the center of the clearing. Two men are kneeling there, bound and unconscious, but even from a distance Yennefer can feel that they're mages. Their clothing identifies them as being part of the Brotherhood, and she looks to Tova.
"Where?"
"A few hours behind you. They put up quite the fight when they ran into us as they tried to follow you into the forest." A twisted smile curves his lips as he looks down at their prone forms. "I thought you might like to see the evidence that you're being tracked before we dispose of them."
Yennefer stays quiet, thinking hard. Stregobor must suspect something if he's sent mages to kill her. She'd thought it would be enough to not use portals, but clearly she underestimated how interested he is in her. She wonders if he suspects that Tissaia might still be alive, or if this is purely about her anticipated refusal to bow to his demands.
An idea occurs to her and she jumps down from the platform, landing lightly on her feet in front of the mages. She walks closer to them and one of the Scoia'tael on the ground raises their bow in her direction.
"Fág í a bheith."
The order from Tova is enough to make them lower their weapon, though they still watch her mistrustfully.
Yennefer reaches out to the two mages with a tendril of chaos, letting it rouse them back to waking. The two men sputter and try to get up, but two Scoia'tael press swords into the backs of their necks to keep them on their knees.
"Why are you here?"
They look up at her with anger in their eyes and neither speaks. She feeds slivers of agony to them through the same tendril of chaos, watching them wince and then start to writhe as the pain increases. When she feels they've had enough she pulls back slightly.
"Let's try this again. Tell me why you're following me, and I may let you live." It's a lie, of course. She has no intention of leaving them alive no matter what they tell her, but that's not a very effective interrogation tactic.
The man on the left glances sideways at his companion. Yennefer sees the moment of weakness and raises her hand to deliver more pain and the man's eyes widen.
"Wait! I'll tell you!"
His companion glares at him with disgust.
"You would cave so easily? Do you really think she will let you live?"
Yennefer twitches her fingers and the second man collapses in a puddle of screams as she coolly watches. After a few moments she loosens her grip on him and lets him lie there moaning and gasping for breath as she arches an eye at the man on the left.
"Go on."
"Stregobor—he said we had to watch you, that you might have some connection to the Archmistress and try to do something."
"Do something like what?" Yennefer asks darkly.
"I don't know! He didn't say, just told us not to let you disappear."
She ponders this information silently for a few moments. It's curious, that Stregobor would associate her with Tissaia. As far as she knows the Rectoress was glad to be rid of her. It makes no sense that Stregobor would assume she would do anything to help Tissaia unless there is something else that she's missing.
"Why would he think I might do something to help Tissaia?" She voices the thought aloud and is taken aback when the one laying on the ground gives a wet chuckle.
"She was bound to you in some way," he gasps. "Stregobor was hoping that the sentiment was reciprocated."
That draws Yennefer up short. Tissaia was certainly not bound to her in any way that she was aware of. She hadn't heard so much as a peep from the Rectoress since she left Aretuza. And what did that even mean, 'bound to'? Like a magical bond? Or something else?
She's brought out of her thoughts by a cough as the second mage pushes himself upright again.
"Would you like to hear the details of your beloved Archmistress's death, then?" he says, meeting her eyes with dark glee. "I hear it was quite the scene, that it took ten mages attacking her simultaneously before she broke. They say you could hear her screams from a village away, but I think the bitch deserved even more than what she got—"
His words are lost in a choking gurgle as Yennefer tightens her fist and closes his airway. She doesn't want to hear anymore. The mental image is already too much and she feels vaguely nauseous imagining ten mages converging on Tissaia with the intent to kill. And she can't—or doesn't want to—imagine what would have been necessary to make the normally-reserved woman lose control to the point of screaming.
"Stregobor always said that she cared for you more than she cared for herself," the man wheezes. "I guess the feeling is mutual. How does it feel to still be under her skirts after all these years—"
She clenches her fist and snaps the man's neck before he can say anything else. The one on the left looks at her with panic.
"No, please don't, wait—"
Another crack and he collapses next to the first. Yennefer is breathing hard, though she doesn't understand why. The exchange has left her unsettled on some deep level and she doesn't know how to fix it.
She can't stop picturing Tissaia, all alone, fighting for her life against a swarm of other mages. Triss hadn't mentioned the details of how Tissaia had supposedly died and Yennefer hadn't asked. It hadn't seemed important at the time. But now it's all she can think about.
She starts when a hand lands on her arm and whirls to see Tova standing next to her. He backs away with an apologetic look and she takes a few deep breaths to try to calm herself. There's nothing she can do about what's already happened. But if this is the task that Tissaia needs of her, she's going to make damn sure she finishes it.
"Are there more?" she asks, gesturing at the dead mages.
"We saw at least one more a day's ride behind you, but he avoided our patrols. I assume more will come using portals rather than horses."
She curses under her breath. It's terribly inconvenient to not be able to use portals herself when these other mages still can. If they've tracked her to Flotsam then there are sure to be more coming that won't have to adhere to non-magical methods of transport. She'll need to move fast, then, if she wants to avoid getting caught as she heads north.
"I can't wait til morning. Can you bring the horse now?"
Tova signals another Scoia'tael, who jogs into the trees and comes back a few seconds later leading a massive grey gelding. The horse is regal and clearly well bred, and he drops his head to snuffle at Yennefer. She offers him her hand and his soft lips mouth against it before he snorts and drops his head to search the ground for anything of interest.
Tova hefts the saddle packs onto the horse. "This should be enough to get you through. We'll make sure you make it to Murivel without being followed, but we can go no farther." He points into the woods. "Head in that direction and you'll find the road you need. I'll send someone in the trees to ensure you don't encounter any problems."
Yennefer nods. She'll take whatever help she can get. She mounts the gelding and settles herself in the saddle, adjusting the stirrups to the proper length. Tova looks up at her from the ground with an inscrutable expression.
"Travel safely, and may you find what you're looking for."
She nudges the horse into a trot and sets off into the darkness without looking back.
###
"Damn it!"
Yennefer swears as she slips on an icy patch and almost goes sliding off a cliff. She's been trying to pick her way down to the rocky beach below for the better part of the morning and has made scant progress.
She can see Inis Porhoet in the fog, far enough offshore that there's no way to reach it without a boat. If this is where Tissaia wants her to go, she hopes the other woman made sure there is actually a way to get there.
A gust of wind cuts through the thick cloak she's wearing and she shivers. It's been a miserable few days. If she never has to sit on a horse again it will be too soon. The grey gelding the Scoia'tael gave her had been faster than she could have hoped for, but it had still been a long ride. There were far too many hours where she was left with nothing but her own thoughts, and hadn't been able to stop turning over the new information regarding Tissaia.
It took ten mages to break her.
Her screams could be heard in the next village over.
She always cared more for you than herself.
The first two were bad enough. Any time she started to doze her brain had tortured her with vivid images of the many ways that Tissaia might have suffered. It breathed life into a tiny flame of vengeance deep within her chest. She wants nothing more than to track down every mage who had a hand in the matter and grant each of them a slow and agonizing death.
More than one comment may have fallen from her lips over the years about not losing sleep should harm befall the Rectoress, but now that it has happened she finds the reality of her emotions to be quite different. With nothing to distract her on the ride she'd been forced to reckon with the reality that she might not hate Tissaia as much as she'd always claimed, and that she might genuinely want the woman alive. She refuses to think on it more than that, and contents herself with the knowledge that it could just be some remnant of the old gratitude for Tissaia rescuing her from the pigpen.
The bigger problem is the final statement the assassin made. Yennefer can reason away her reactions to the first two as some twisted sense of obligation, but that last one is not so straightforward.
Everything about the words makes her uneasy. The idea of Tissaia caring for her at all is almost laughable. If she cared, then why had she allowed the assignment to Nilfgaard? Why had she not fought harder then? And why had she never once sought Yennefer out in all the years since? Those were not the actions of a woman who cared.
She's reminded of Triss admonishing her that she knew only a piece of Tissaia and the look in the other mage's eyes when she gazed at Yennefer as if she was missing some key bit of information. It feels like everyone knows something she doesn't when it comes to Tissaia, and she hates it. But what she hates even more is that she can't deny the visceral reaction she'd had to the assassin mocking her for feeling the same.
If he meant that she cares for Tissaia in the sense that she regularly imagines the other woman being knocked from her pedestal or being able to wrap her hands around that gorgeous, long neck and strangle her for being so difficult, then sure. She cares for Tissaia.
But part of her knows it's more than that. Somewhere along the way she started to give a fuck about what happens to the other woman.
She can't help that Tissaia has always been the one person who can truly match her word for word and action for action. There's something alluring about the constant struggle and tension between them, the knowing that Tissaia is her equal (and maybe then some). Precious few people, mage or no, can keep up with Yennefer, and Tissaia is the only one who's ever dared to challenge her.
Some thread ties them together, and she doesn't want to lose that. Doesn't want to lose the chance to learn more about the other woman, what makes her tick, what her motivations are, why she does the things she does.
Yennefer curses as her foot slips again and she skids halfway down the cliff before catching herself on a jagged rock. It bites into her hand but slows her enough to regain her footing, and she's pleased to see that she's stumbled onto a clear path down to the beach.
She takes careful steps until she's safely on the rocky beach. Harsh waves crash against the shore, sending up sprays of icy mist that land on Yennefer and freeze on her cloak. She scans the beach for any sign of a way to cross the water and get to Inis Porhoet, but there's nothing. Not even a pathetic excuse for a dinghy. She wants to scream at hitting yet another dead end, but she settles for throwing herself down on a log that's half-buried on the beach.
Where can she go from here? There are no more clues, nobody around to give her a hint or tell her the next step, or even to let her know if she's headed in the right direction. It feels futile, and she almost wants to cry from the frustration and helplessness she feels. Why would Tissaia set her an impossible task?
"Well well well, someone is a long way from home."
The words come from behind her and Yennefer jerks around, straining her eyes in search of the speaker. She knows that voice, the silky smooth tone with the edge of arrogance. It's exactly the voice she's been hoping to hear, and she's not sure her mind hasn't conjured it out of thin air just to spite her.
But then the breeze shifts, and the woman she's been chasing for the past week steps out of the fog like some sort of vision, and Yennefer can only breathe a single word:
"Tissaia."