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Chapter Text

Emhyr slammed his palms onto the table in frustration as Philippa Eilhart disappeared from the megascope. The force toppled over the silver inkwell on his desk. The Emperor stared blankly as black ink spilled across sheaves of official documents and felt every single one of his years. 

He sank heavily into his chair.

The sorceresses were useless in how to deal with O’Dimm. But whatever they had scried unnerved them enough that they’ve all retreated to Montecalvo. Even Lady Yennefer only gave vague promises to look further into the matter.

Mererid approached slowly and deliberately at his side. “Your Majesty, if I may,” he began.

Emhyr looked at his chamberlain wearily. He had told only Mererid that a supernatural creature had abducted Geralt from their bedchamber; the Court was used to the Witcher’s sporadic outings, and so, for now, no one remarked on Geralt’s missing presence.

“What is it, Mererid? You may speak freely.”

“Your Majesty mentioned that the d'yaebl called himself Master Mirror. I have been corresponding with Lady de Trastamara”— at Emhyr’s confused look, Mererid quickly explained—“Sir Geralt’s cook, sire. She had confessed to me that she was cursed as a spotted wight over a hundred years ago by a merchant of mirror.”

Emhyr drew in a sharp breath. “And how did she free herself from the curse?” he asked.

“It was Sir Geralt who broke the curse.”

Emhyr’s lips curved into a wane smile; his Witcher would. 

“Perhaps it had also been the d'yaebl who cursed her.”

The Emperor’s brows knitted deeply in thought. Demon or mage, O’Dimm was apparently ageless, for he looked mostly the same now as when he first appeared to Emhyr decades ago. Of course, there would be traces of the havoc left by Gaunter O'Dimm throughout history, even if he had gone by different names.

Emhyr felt a glimmer of hope as he said, “invite Lady de Trastamara to the palace immediately. Explain to her that Geralt might have run afoul of the same creature who had cursed her. ”

“Geralt!! What at you doing here?!” Shani exclaimed in surprise when she found the Witcher suddenly at her door.

As the red-haired physician stepped aside to let him in, she was struck by his ill-fitting clothes. It almost looked like he stole them from some poor sod. “What happened to you?” 

The Witcher replied in his usual laconic way. “Long story”— which explained nothing.

She rolled her eyes. But then Geralt said something she was not expecting. “Shani, I need your help.”

“I guessed that this isn’t a social call. All right, tell me what you need.” The sharp-eyed young woman noted that Geralt was bearing a strange-looking brand on his cheek. “Is it at all related to that mark on your face?”

The Witcher’s gingerly touched his face. “Yeah. Got it from a man named Gaunter O’Dimm. Could be a mage but maybe not a man at all...a demon or a djinn. He’s very powerful; that’s all I need to know. He expects me to fulfill some nobleman’s wishes in return. First one is to summon the ghost of his brother, then show him the time of his life. Gotta find his grave and summon him. O'Dimm even gave me a vial of his blood so I could summon him without resorting to necromancy. But I'll need a censer too."

"Whose ghost is it?" Shani asked curiously.

"Olgierd von Everc’s brother. Got to find where he was buried first though.”

“Von Everec?” The name sounded vaguely familiar to Shani. She walked over to her bookshelf and grabbed a dusty tome after a bit of searching.

As she flipped through the pages, Shani explained, “In my third year at the Oxenfurt Academy, we had to choose an elective. My options were Pearls of Wisdom from the Hierarchs or Famous Redanian Dynasties. I chose the latter.” Eventually, she found what she was looking for. “Hmmm. It says Olgierd had a brother named Vlodimir. He lies in the family crypt, near their manor.”

“Thanks, Shani. Knew I could count on you.” The Witcher turned around to leave.

“Geralt, wait!” 

Shani disliked like politics; she knew better than most the price of royal ambition and avarice. She will admit that the streets of Oxenfurt seemed safer than before now that Nilfgaardians soldiers have started regular night patrols. However, the knocks on the back door of her clinic never stopped. 

Most of her covert patients, undoubtedly many Redanian rebels amongst them, stayed quiet except to thank her. Some, however, gossiped about hearing stories of a white-haired Witcher in the company of the Emperor of Nilfgaard. The rumors only grew more ludicrous and crude over time.

The Emperor is a filthy degenerate, whoring with a mutant. 

The Witcher ain’t human. I heard that it gave birth to a litter of wolves that grew to be as big as a man in one moon. The tyrant keeps them in the throne room to maul any poor sod that displeases him.

Shani dismissed the rumors, for she knew that Geralt would not want to be involved with nobilities anymore than she did. But his sudden appearance did make her wonder what had happened to him since their meeting months ago. She would have to bide her time to winnow the story out of him.

“The crypt is described as quite a work of art. I’d love to see it. Why don’t I bring the censer? We can meet at the entrance,” Shani offered.

“Could be dangerous, Shani.”

She snorted. “You’re not even in armor. And where are your swords?”

“O’Dimm snatched me before I could get my things.” Geralt shuffled on his feet and mumbled, “is there a Nilfgaardian embassy nearby by any chance?”

Shani raised her eyebrows at that but eventually nodded in response.

“Ok, if you can get a censer, I’ll see about getting resupplied. But if things go wrong and I tell you to run, you run.”