‘Sure you didn’t go a bit too far?’ he asked coldly. Yennefer’s eyes flared violet.
‘Don’t try to make a fool out of me. Did you think I don’t know about you and her?’
‘If that’s what you—’
‘That’s precisely what,’ she said, cutting him off. ‘Don’t make stupid faces, and refrain from comments. And above all, don’t try to lie to me. I’ve known Triss longer than I’ve known you. We like each other. We understand each other wonderfully and will always do so, irrespective of various minor . . . incidents. Just then it seemed to me she had some doubts. So I put her right, and that’s that. Let’s not discuss it any further.’
He didn’t intend to. Yennefer pulled her curls back from her cheek.
‘Now I shall leave you for a moment; I must talk to Tissaia and Francesca. Have some more food, because your stomach’s rumbling. And be vigilant. Several people are sure to accost you. Don’t let them walk all over you and don’t tarnish my reputation.’
‘You can be sure of that.’
‘Geralt?’
‘Yes.’
‘A short while ago you expressed a desire to kiss me here, in front of everyone. Do you still hold to that?’
‘I do.’
‘Just try not to smudge my lipstick.’
He glanced at the assembly out of the corner of his eye. They were watching the kiss, but not intrusively. Philippa Eilhart, standing nearby, with a group of young sorcerers, winked at him and feigned applause.
Yennefer pulled her mouth away from his and heaved a deep sigh.
‘A trifling thing, but pleasing,’ she purred. ‘All right, I’m going. I’ll be right back. And later, after the banquet . . . Hmm . . .’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Please don’t eat anything containing garlic.’
After she had gone the Witcher abandoned convention, unfastened his doublet, drank both goblets of wine and tried to get down to some serious eating. Nothing came of it.
‘Geralt.’
‘Your Excellency.’
‘Lay off the titles,’ frowned Dijkstra. ‘I’m no count. Vizimir ordered me to introduce myself like that, so as not affront courtiers or sorcerers with my peasant origins. So, how’s it going impressing people with your outfit and your figure? And pretending to have fun?’
‘I don’t have to pretend. I’m not here in a professional capacity.’
‘That’s interesting,’ smiled the spy, ‘but confirms the general opinion, that says you’re special; one of a kind. Because everyone else is here in a professional capacity.’
‘That’s what I was afraid of,’ said Geralt, also deeming it appropriate to smile. ‘I guessed I’d be one of a kind. Meaning out of place.’
The spy inspected the nearby dishes and then picked up and devoured the large, green pod of a vegetable unfamiliar to Geralt.
‘By the way,’ he said, ‘thank you for the Michelet brothers. Plenty of people in Redania sighed with relief when you hacked the four of them to death in the port in Oxenfurt. I laughed out loud when the university physician who was summoned to the investigation concluded – after examining the wounds – that someone had used a scythe blade mounted upright.’
Geralt didn’t comment. Dijkstra put another pod into his mouth.
‘It’s a pity,’ he continued, chewing, ‘that after dispatching them you didn’t report to the mayor. There was a bounty on them, dead or alive. A considerable one.’
‘Too many problems with my tax return already,’ said the Witcher, also deciding to sample a green pod, which turned out to taste like soapy celery. ‘Besides, I had to get away quickly, because . . . But I’m probably boring you, Dijkstra. You know everything, after all.’
‘Not a bit of it,’ smiled the spy. ‘I really don’t. Where would I learn such things from, anyway?’
‘From the reports of, oh, I don’t know, Philippa Eilhart.’
‘Reports, tales, rumours. I have to listen to them; it’s my job. But at the same time, my job forces me to sift every detail through a very fine sieve. Recently, just imagine, I heard that someone hacked the infamous Professor and his two comrades to death. It happened outside an inn in Anchor. The person who did it was also in too much of a hurry to collect the bounty.’
Geralt shrugged.
‘Rumours. Sift them through a fine sieve and you’ll see what remains.’
‘I don’t have to. I know what will remain. Most often, it’s a deliberate attempt at disinformation. Ah, and while we’re on the subject of disinformation, how is little Cirilla doing? Poor, sickly little girl, so prone to diphtheria? She’s healthy, I trust?’