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to . . .'
'. . . go to bed with?'
'Mmmh.'
'If you have any choice at all,' the enchantress twisted her lips in a smile, 'but don't have much
experience, you first appraise the bed.'
Ciri's emerald eyes turned the shape and size of saucers.
'How's that . . . The bed?'
'Precisely that. Those who don't have a bed at all, you eliminate on the spot. From those who
remain, you eliminate the owners of any dirty or slovenly beds. And when only those who
have clean and tidy beds remain, you choose the one you find most attractive. Unfortunately,
the method is not a hundred per cent foolproof. You can make a terrible mistake.'
'You're joking?'
'No. I'm not joking, Ciri. As of tomorrow, you are going to sleep here with me. Bring your
things. From what I hear, too much time is wasted in the novices' dormitory on gabbling, time
which would be better spent resting and sleeping.'
After mastering the basic positions of the hands, the moves and gestures, Ciri began to learn
spells and their formulae. The formulae
were easier. Written in Elder Speech, which the girl already knew to perfection, they sank
easily into her memory. Nor did she have any problems enunciating the frequently
complicated intonations. Yennefer was clearly pleased and, from day to day, was becoming
more pleasant and sympathetic. More and more frequently, taking breaks in the studies, both
gossiped and joked about any old thing; both even began to amuse themselves by delicately
poking fun at Nenneke who often 'visited' their lectures and exercises - bristling and puffed up
like a brooding hen - ready to take Ciri under her protective wing, to protect and save her
from the magician's imagined severity and the 'inhuman tortures' of her education.
Obeying instructions, Ciri moved to Yennefer's chamber. Now they were together not only by
day but also by night. Sometimes, their studies would take place during the night - certain
moves, formulae and spells could not be performed in daylight.
The magician, pleased with the girl's progress, slowed the speed of her education. They had
more free time. They spent their evenings reading books, together or separately. Ciri waded
through Stammelford's Dialogues on the Nature of Magic, Giambattista's Forces of the
Elements and Richert and Monck's Natural Magic. She also flicked through - because she did
not manage to read them in their entirety - such works as Jan Bekker's The Invisible World
and Agnes of Glanville's The Secret of Secrets. She dipped into the ancient, yellowed Codex
of Mirthe, Ard Aercane, and even the famous, terrible Dhu Dwimmermorc, full of menacing
etchings.
She also reached for other books which had nothing to do with magic. She read The History
of the World and A Treatise on Life. Nor did she leave out lighter works from the Temple
library. Blushing, she devoured Marquis La Creahme's Gambols and Anna Tiller's The King's
Ladies. She read The Adversities of Loving and Time of the Moon, collections of poems by
the famous troubadour Dandilion. She shed tears over the ballads of Essi Daven, subtle,
infused with mystery, and collected in a small, beautifully bound volume entitled The Blue
Pearl.
She made frequent use of her privilege to ask questions. And she received answers. More and
more frequently, however, she was
the one being questioned. In the beginning it had seemed that Yennefer was not at all
interested in her lot, in her childhood in Cintra or the later events of war. But in time her
questions became more and more concrete. Ciri had to reply and did so very unwillingly
because every question the magician asked opened a door in her memory which she had
promised herself never to open, which she wanted to keep forever locked. Ever since she had
met Geralt in Sodden, she had believed she had begun 'another life', that the other life - the
one in Cintra - had been irrevocably wiped out. The witchers in Kaer Morhen never asked her
about anything and, before coming to the temple, Geralt had even prevailed upon her not to
say a word to anyone about who she was. Nenneke, who, of course knew about everything,
saw to it that to the other priestesses and the novices Ciri was exceptionally ordinary, an
illegitimate daughter of a knight and a peasant woman, a child for whom there had been no
place either in her father's castle or her mother's cottage. Half of the novices in Melitele's
Temple were just such children.
And Yennefer too knew the secret. She was the one who 'could be trusted'. Yennefer asked.
About it. About Cintra.
'How did you get out of the town, Ciri? How did you slip past the Nilfgaardians?'
Ciri did not remember. Everything broke off, was lost in obscurity and smoke. She
remembered the siege, saying goodbye to Queen Calanthe, her grandmother; she remembered
the barons and knights forcibly dragging her away from the bed where the wounded, dying
Lioness of Cintra lay. She remembered the frantic escape through flaming streets, bloody
battle and the horse falling. She remembered the black rider in a helmet adorned with the
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