Chapter 4
The potion Triss crafted for her eyes was oily. She delivered it via drops direct to Yennefer’s pupils twice a day, and Yennefer hated the grimy thickness of it. It made her eyes feel sticky. But she accepted it without complaint, because Triss was too nice to argue with and too brilliant to be ignored. After only four days of application, much of the gritty pain in Yennefer’s eyes was gone, and she’d even caught a hazy bit of light a few times. Nothing to provide definition, but not nothing entirely. It provided little solace, though she supposed a little was better than none.
Due to the state of her hands, she had no independence beyond the boundaries of her mind. She couldn’t eat or drink on her own or use the privy, wash herself or freshen her breath or change her clothes, and all of it was enormously challenging. Every single task was a battle. Yennefer still hadn’t learned to accept it, nor how to stop feeling as though she had been stripped of her dignity. She sobbed the first time someone wiped her ass because she couldn’t do it herself.
She could walk once she knew where she was going, but there was little space. Her small room had minor patterns, and she learned them quickly, but it never assuaged her claustrophobia. Of course, Triss had encouraged her to get out of her room, but she could not bring herself to leave. Yennefer never even opened the door, instead laying against it like a spurned lover tossed from her home and desperate. Wanting back in. Or out, in her case.
But the idea was like stepping into a chasm. Yennefer imagined she might fall or float away. The thought of being seen by others, those not assigned to her aid, knowing how weak and incapable she must appear for the first time since her ascension… It set her teeth on edge. She loathed the thought of being seen without seeing in return. Someone could watch her without her knowledge, could touch her before she even had a chance to know they were there. She couldn’t stomach it.
She needed someone to force her. It was the only way she would do it. But no one would dare. No one but Tissaia, and she had been a ghost since the eel.
Yennefer cringed every time she thought of the way she’d pressed her face against Tissaia’s stomach, the way she’d sniffed her like a lover getting high on a suspense that would never be sated. Gods, what had she been thinking? As good as it felt, and it felt so fucking good, Yennefer was rankled by the memory, convinced that Tissaia regretted it. That she was embarrassed at having let Yennefer touch her that way, because as innocent as it had technically been, Yennefer was certain they would have shot apart if interrupted, like two teens pretending they weren’t fooling around. Undeniably, something about it felt forbidden.
Yennefer had been driving herself insane over it at least thrice a day since it happened. Since when had she even wanted to touch Tissaia that way? She shivered and shook her head. She did not want to touch Tissaia. Clearly, if her absence was evidence, Tissaia had no desire to touch her again either.
“Yennefer.” Tissaia’s voice burst like a bubble in her head, causing Yennefer to jump so hard that she was convinced she’d torn her sutures on the cusp of having them removed.
“What?!” she shouted back, both mentally and vocally, and pulled her gown up to check her aching abdominal wound. She felt carefully with her fingers along the suture line, counting each as she mapped. To her relief, they were all intact.
“Stop shouting. Are you busy?”
Was she busy? Was Tissaia serious? “What could I possibly be busy with?” Other than summoning Tissaia’s attention with her salacious thoughts. Let it be a terrifying coincidence.
“Nude?”
Yennefer’s eyes bulged. “What?” She quickly dropped her dress back down. “No, I’m not nude!”
“Good.” The door flung open and Tissaia entered with a pointed clearing of her throat as announcement.
“You know a knock would have sufficed,” Yennefer told her as she counted Tissaia’s six short paces to her side. Her warmth eased into the cloud of Yennefer’s and settled. “I wouldn’t have let you in if I was naked.”
Wouldn’t I have, though? Yennefer’s back tingled at the thought. She closed her eyes. A huff puffed between her lips. Gods damn me. Is this a test?
“Your hand, please,” Tissaia said and took her seat at Yennefer’s side. Her exam was quick and clinical, and at its end, she made a pleased sound. “Much of the tissue around your last two fingers has regenerated, though it is young flesh. Quite raw.”
“Can you still see the bone?”
“Here, in your palm, yes. Can you feel where I’m touching?”
Yennefer shook her head. “I feel nothing but temperature and pain most days, and both come and go. Pressure sometimes, but otherwise, nothing.”
Tissaia was quiet, though Yennefer imagined her nodding. She imagined her pursing her lips as she observed Yennefer’s progress and deemed it both satisfactory and wanting. “I expect this will be a long road,” she said after a moment. “But I intend to stay the course.” Her hand moved to Yennefer’s upper arm and squeezed there once. Then, as quickly as she had arrived, she was off, leaving Yennefer to be rebandaged by a servant.
There was no need for her to say that she would show again at dawn.
Triss returned that evening for Yennefer’s nightly drops, and informed her of a gift on its way. “It will be along this evening.” She returned her glass dropper to the well and refilled it. “I think it will be good for you.”
“Tonight?” Yennefer fought the instinct to panic-blink as the dropper drew closer to her eye. “Is it not late? Oh, Triss. It’s not a lover, is it? I fear I’m rather not in the mood, what with the mangled limbs and all.”
“No, Yennefer,” Triss laughed. “Hold still or I’ll miss. I’ve come a bit early. The sun has not yet set.”
“Oh. Well, go on then. What is it?” The tiniest flare of interest kindled to life inside her, and suddenly, Yennefer was looking forward to something. Looking forward. It shocked her. “What have you got me?”
“I’m not telling you, silly.” With a soft cloth, Triss wiped the excess oil from around Yennefer’s eyes and said, “There. Done.”
“When do I get my gift?”
“Melitele, Yennefer! You’re like a ravenous child when you’re excited.”
“Oh, pfft. What is there to be excited about these days?”
Triss answered her with a disappointed sigh. “Yennefer, please don’t say such things.”
She didn’t argue despite the impulse. If she wanted, if it was how she truly felt, then she should be able to say those things, whether or not they made anyone uncomfortable. It was her misery to express as she chose, wasn’t it? She was the one living this horror. As badly as Triss was injured, she could still do for herself. What was Yennefer if not an invalid now? She couldn’t stand it, the too much and not enough of it all. The demand to sacrifice her pride.
But she put on a smile and pretended it was okay, because everyone, perhaps especially Triss, was just doing their best. Before, that might not have mattered to Yennefer, but they had all since been to war. And so, it did now. It mattered quite a lot.
“You won’t give me a hint then?”
“You won’t have to wait long.”
A knock sounded within the hour, and Yennefer eased herself up from her cot. Anticipation tickled her belly. “Enter.”
The door complained as it opened, and a voice broke her suspense. “Dearest,” Sabrina said with her classic lilt—a trio of sex, privilege, and mockery—and Yennefer’s stomach dropped. Her mood went with it. “I’ve come to drag you from your gloom. Or room, rather.” She sniffed as if there wasn’t a difference.
“Oh, fuck Triss!” Yennefer growled and lay back down. “She said she was sending a gift.”
“Am I not?” Sabrina’s heels tapped along the floor, then the pointed toe of her boot kicked Yennefer’s foot where it hung over the bed. “Get up. I’m to take you for a walk.”
“No,” Yennefer whined. “Why you? You stabbed me.”
“And here you are, alive and well,” Sabrina countered. “Best not to dwell. Come now, Yennefer. Chop. Chop. No time for foreplay.”
Despite her theatrics, Yennefer couldn’t help laughing. It was so normal, their back-and-forth, so real and normal, and for the first time since Sodden, she felt like herself. “Bitch,” she said as she got to her feet.
“Be grateful I’ve recovered my Chaos stores, as making you presentable will require the lot.”
“And making you tolerable will require ridding myself of a gag reflex.”
“Yennefer, do be humble,” Sabrina said as she petted Yennefer’s unruly hair back from her face. “I’m easy to make vengeful, as you know.”
Yennefer let herself be magicked into a groomed state—she hoped—and a fresh, fitted gown that was both thick and soft. She couldn’t see an inch of it yet the weight and feel comforted. As if dressed in fine armor, she felt secure.
“Color?” she asked and tried to feel the design of the chest with her wrists and forearms where she maintained sensation. It was a clean edge, low cut. She thought she’d felt a breeze. “Why are my tits out? I’m covered in bandages. What is the point?”
“Black, of course,” Sabrina said. “And the bandages are precisely the point. You look like you did battle with a bedsheet.”
Yennefer’s eyes strained with how hard she rolled them. But at least Sabrina was an honest bitch. Most of the time.
“Your tits will distract from your hands. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Yennefer mocked and allowed Sabrina to push her by the waist toward the door.
She had always compensated a bit too much for her shortfalls. Bravado had saved her life many times. It had also gotten her in trouble. The moment Yennefer finally crossed the threshold of her room and entered the world outside it, she, for some fucking reason, decided to walk with all the confidence of a woman who could see what was in front of her. And ran face-first into a wall.
“Fuck!” An ache blossomed behind her nose and gave nice, little kick to her pre-existing headache, the one she had most days. “What the fuck, Sabrina! Why did you let me do that?”
“Well, you took off with such vigor,” Sabrina said as she stepped to Yennefer’s side again and hooked their elbows together, “I assumed you were trying to make a little point. About your independence.” She patted Yennefer’s forearm. “But then you walked into a wall.”
“Will you just steer, you insufferable witch?”
“Of course, darling.”
They wandered for at least an hour, perhaps two. Sabrina guided her through the various long hallways of Aretuza as if Yennefer had never been and required a grand tour. She named each area as they entered and even gave a short description of what was happening or who, if she deemed them worthy enough of mention, was there.
To her own surprise, Yennefer quite enjoyed the mundane details. They painted entire pictures. She even enjoyed Sabrina’s stupid voice, vain and steady at her ear. Most of all, she enjoyed the movement in her legs and body. She wasn’t without pain, wasn’t sure she ever would be again, but movement felt good. Energy coursed up the length of her with every step and detail, and in little bursts, she felt alive again.
When they entered the high, open gallery that would circle them back around, Yennefer knew their walk would soon reach its end. She felt the breeze of the evening blow over her face and pulled them to a stop. She reached out for the stone edge of a balcony she knew should be there but felt nothing. “A little help?”
Sabrina nudged her in the right direction until they stood against the balcony’s framing, exposed to the sky. Yennefer took the deepest breath she could manage, and it smelled and tasted and felt so clean, so new. She had almost forgotten how good a breath could be and how real she could feel.
“Dearest,” Sabrina said, voice wary. She hesitated a moment, and Yennefer tried not to brace for bad news. She didn’t want to feel terrible again. She just wanted fresh air. “Were I to tell you that I wished to sincerely apologize for my…actions at Sodden, would you find that prospect horrifying?”
Oh. Yennefer’s chest burned fondly, but she made a show of curling her lip and scrunching her nose. As much disgust as she could muster. “Indeed, I would.”
“Oh good,” Sabrina said and patted her arm. “Then you agree I shan’t bother with it. Fabulous. Shall we continue?”
Yennefer laughed, relished the sound of it bouncing off stone and atmosphere and back, and let herself be led along to their next destination. Triss had been so right, and Yennefer had been afraid for no reason. This walk, and this terrible woman, were a gift.
“Ladies.”
Hardly on their way again, Sabrina slowed their steps and sighed under her breath for only Yennefer to hear. “Vilgefortz,” she said to the man Yennefer couldn’t see. “Whatever brings you to Aretuza this evening?”
“Ah, a visit only,” was the answer. His voice was like a trigger, an instant suction drawing Yennefer back into the past, to a lie that led her to war. Her hackles rose, and she was quickly at a boil, furious that he stood there, that he was lurking about Aretuza, where he had no business being. She was furious that he had the gall to speak to her at all. “I’ve just come from the infirmary. I try to make a point of asking after our injured mages now and then. Sodden lingers for many, as you know.”
Yennefer sneered before she could stop herself. “I’ve not heard you knock at my door.”
“You would have,” Vilgefortz replied with ease, “had you been there. But here you are, so I will ask now. How are you faring, Yennefer? I see you are on your feet at last.”
Yennefer’s lips twitched as she stopped herself from snarling. “Fine.” He would get nothing more.
Even if, ultimately, she did not regret joining Tissaia at Sodden, her first interaction with the man before her had been a manipulation. That was the behavior of predators. Yennefer knew because she was a predator herself. But Vilgefortz was a snake. She could smell it on him, no matter his camouflage. His little show at the battle had been overwrought and careless, and it granted nothing but an obvious pride he hadn’t earned. That stench, too, wafted off him in relentless waves, and Yennefer ached for the fresh air she’d only just been breathing.
“Right,” the man said with indifferent acceptance. “Then I’m glad to hear it.”
“Well, we must be off,” Sabrina told him and shuffled them past. “You understand.” Yennefer could have kissed her.
“Oh yes, and I as well. As I’m sure you both know, Tissaia hates to be kept waiting.”
The words hit Yennefer’s back like a force, knocking her breath loose. He was on his way to Tissaia. For what?Triss’s joke from Sodden, one that now seemed centuries old and felt much less innocuous, came back to her. “…our new daddy.” Shit. Yennefer knew exactly what he was going to find to Tissaia for, and it turned her fucking stomach. How Vilgefortz, of all people, had convinced Tissaia he was worthy of what she kept under her skirts, Yennefer could not fathom. She only knew it bothered. Deeply. And that bothered as well.
“What a smug little man,” Sabrina said once they were alone again.
Yennefer huffed in agreement. “And for what? A fancy bit of swordplay and a terrible ponytail? Thanks be to the Gods I was spared the sight a second time.”
“True, though he is bedding the most influential woman on the Continent. I might feel superior, too.” Yennefer cringed hard enough for the echo of it to move through her companion, who laughed at her. “I know. The thought of Tissaia under such circumstances is enough to make one dry as the Korathi sand.”
Speak for yourself, Yennefer thought and immediately wanted to die. She doused the ugly fire in her chest, the one that felt an awful lot like jealousy, and pushed Sabrina onward with her elbow. “Stop talking and walk.”
The squelching sound of Tissaia’s knife digging into the ferret’s gut made Yennefer feel queasy. She swallowed the saliva that flooded her mouth and turned her head away for a breath not scented with blood. Tissaia had unwrapped both her hands for this round of enchantments and smeared the gooey paste that Yennefer was now accustomed to over one wrist, then the other.
The woman had said little since her pre-dawn arrival, but Yennefer tried not to read into it. At times, Tissaia was merely that way—solemn and reserved. Perhaps it was only her mood. Yennefer didn’t want to ask for fear that Tissaia would tell her to mind her own business or suffer for it. She was also minorly afraid that Tissaia wouldn’t tell her to mind her business and that she might actually want to broach the subject of the weird fucking energy that had floated between them the last time she slaughtered something for Yennefer’s sake. And what would Yennefer say if she did? Sorry about that? You smelled good? For a brief moment, I lost my mind and thought it was a good idea to feel you up?
When the squelching returned, she decided to risk it anyway. Another sound was vital. Something less sickening and…dead. “Has one of your new girls not risen to your expectations? You seem tense.”
Tissaia’s work briefly paused. Then a metal stirring began. “Do I?”
“Though tension is a bit like smallclothes for you, isn’t it? The first thing you apply in the morning? You’re always so wound up.”
“As opposed to your preference for being loose?”
Yennefer’s jaw dropped open to unleash a shout of laughter. Her cheeks flamed. “Tissaia!”
A warm chuckle that felt both alien and familiar danced in the air, and Yennefer’s mind flashed back to Sodden, to that strangely merry night before. Tissaia by the fire, ale in her hand, laughing with her shoulder pressed against Yennefer’s. With her walls more transparent than ever before. “You still have so much left to give.”
“How weak you are to a dose of your own medicine,” Tissaia teased, causing a flutter in Yennefer’s stomach. Butterflies or nerves. Attraction. The heat in Yennefer’s face spread down her neck to her chest.
“You’ve been quiet,” she said before Tissaia could begin her chanting and end the conversation.
“Not all of us need fill the air with the sounds of our own voices day and night.”
“Tissaia.”
“What, Yennefer? I am only tired.”
Because you were up late last night? The thought stirred hotly in Yennefer’s head. With a visitor? She hated that she could still hear Vilgefortz’s sleazy voice from the night before. “Tissaia hates to be kept waiting.” Ugh. No. Yennefer had to remind herself that it wasn’t her business who visited Tissaia’s chambers, and that it really wasn’t sensible for her to care as much as she was realizing she did.
“These sessions take their toll,” Tissaia confessed, and Yennefer suddenly remembered what Triss had told her the day she woke up. Since Fringilla’s attack at Sodden, Tissaia had tired easily with the use of Chaos.
Yennefer felt ill. Nearly every time she had seen Tissaia since Sodden, the woman was channeling Chaos. Over her. Through her. For her. Yennefer couldn’t actually see her, but she had never gotten the impression that Tissaia was terribly affected by performing the enchantments. Maybe that was the reason a separation always followed, why days had to pass between each session. Perhaps it wasn’t awkwardness or avoidance or recovery time at all, but suffering. Tissaia’s suffering.
“You should stop,” Yennefer said, eyes tracing the dark where she imagined Tissaia’s face would be. “Keep your energy for yourself.”
Tissaia gently cleared her throat and said, “No.” Then the chanting began, and Yennefer knew there would be no further discussion.