Triss.”
“Conditions?” Eskel was clearly worried. “But we’ve already promised to ease Ciri’s training, Triss. What other conditions do you want to impose?”
“Well, maybe ‘conditions’ isn’t a very nice phrase. So let us call it advice. I will give you three pieces of advice, and you are going to abide by each of them. If, of course, you really want me to stay and help you bring up the little one.”
“We’re listening,” said Geralt. “Go on, Triss.”
“Above all,” she began, smiling maliciously, “Ciri’s menu is to be more varied. And the secret mushrooms and mysterious greens in particular have to be limited.”
Geralt and Coën controlled their expressions wonderfully, Lambert and Eskel a little less so, Vesemir not at all. But then, she thought, looking at his comically embarrassed expression, in his day the world was a better place. Duplicity was a character flaw to be ashamed of. Sincerity did not bring shame.
“Fewer infusions of your mystery-shrouded herbs,” she continued, trying not to giggle, “and more milk. You have goats here. Milking is no great art. You’ll see, Lambert, you’ll learn how to do it in no time.”
“Triss,” started Geralt, “listen—”
“No, you listen. You haven’t subjected Ciri to violent mutations, haven’t touched her hormones, haven’t tried any elixirs or Grasses on her. And that’s to be praised. That was sensible, responsible and humane. You haven’t harmed her with any of your poisons – all the more so you must not cripple her now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The mushrooms whose secrets you guard so carefully,” she explained, “do, indeed, keep the girl wonderfully fit and strengthen her muscles. The herbs guarantee an ideal metabolic rate and hasten her development. All this taken together and helped along by gruelling training causes certain changes in her build, in her adipose tissue. She’s a woman, and as you haven’t crippled her hormonal system, do not cripple her physically now. She might hold it against you later if you so ruthlessly deprive her of her womanly… attributes. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“And how,” muttered Lambert, brazenly eyeing Triss’s breasts which strained against the fabric of her dress. Eskel cleared his throat and looked daggers at the young witcher.
“At the moment,” Geralt asked slowly, also gliding his eyes over this and that, “you haven’t noticed anything irreversible in her, I hope?”
“No.” She smiled. “Fortunately, not. She is developing healthily and normally and is built like a young dryad – it’s a pleasure to look at her. But I ask you to be moderate in using your accelerants.”
“We will,” promised Vesemir. “Thank you for the warning, child. What else? You said three… pieces of advice.”
“Indeed. This is the second: Ciri must not be allowed to grow wild. She has to have contact with the world. With her peers. She has to be decently educated and prepared for a normal life. Let her wave her sword about for the time being. You won’t turn her into a witcher without mutation anyway, but having a witcher’s training won’t harm her. Times are hard and dangerous; she’ll be able to defend herself when necessary. Like an elf. But you must not bury her alive here, in the middle of nowhere. She has to enter normal life.”
“Her normal life went up in flames along with Cintra,” murmured Geralt, “but regarding this, Triss, as usual you’re right. We’ve already thought about it. In spring I’m going to take her to the Temple school. To Nenneke. To Ellander.”
“That’s a very good idea and a wise decision. Nenneke is an exceptional woman and Goddess Melitele’s sanctuary an exceptional place. Safe, sure, and it guarantees an appropriate education for the girl. Does Ciri know yet?”
“She does. She kicked up a fuss for a few days but finally accepted the idea. Now she is even looking forward to spring with
“Conditions?” Eskel was clearly worried. “But we’ve already promised to ease Ciri’s training, Triss. What other conditions do you want to impose?”
“Well, maybe ‘conditions’ isn’t a very nice phrase. So let us call it advice. I will give you three pieces of advice, and you are going to abide by each of them. If, of course, you really want me to stay and help you bring up the little one.”
“We’re listening,” said Geralt. “Go on, Triss.”
“Above all,” she began, smiling maliciously, “Ciri’s menu is to be more varied. And the secret mushrooms and mysterious greens in particular have to be limited.”
Geralt and Coën controlled their expressions wonderfully, Lambert and Eskel a little less so, Vesemir not at all. But then, she thought, looking at his comically embarrassed expression, in his day the world was a better place. Duplicity was a character flaw to be ashamed of. Sincerity did not bring shame.
“Fewer infusions of your mystery-shrouded herbs,” she continued, trying not to giggle, “and more milk. You have goats here. Milking is no great art. You’ll see, Lambert, you’ll learn how to do it in no time.”
“Triss,” started Geralt, “listen—”
“No, you listen. You haven’t subjected Ciri to violent mutations, haven’t touched her hormones, haven’t tried any elixirs or Grasses on her. And that’s to be praised. That was sensible, responsible and humane. You haven’t harmed her with any of your poisons – all the more so you must not cripple her now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The mushrooms whose secrets you guard so carefully,” she explained, “do, indeed, keep the girl wonderfully fit and strengthen her muscles. The herbs guarantee an ideal metabolic rate and hasten her development. All this taken together and helped along by gruelling training causes certain changes in her build, in her adipose tissue. She’s a woman, and as you haven’t crippled her hormonal system, do not cripple her physically now. She might hold it against you later if you so ruthlessly deprive her of her womanly… attributes. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“And how,” muttered Lambert, brazenly eyeing Triss’s breasts which strained against the fabric of her dress. Eskel cleared his throat and looked daggers at the young witcher.
“At the moment,” Geralt asked slowly, also gliding his eyes over this and that, “you haven’t noticed anything irreversible in her, I hope?”
“No.” She smiled. “Fortunately, not. She is developing healthily and normally and is built like a young dryad – it’s a pleasure to look at her. But I ask you to be moderate in using your accelerants.”
“We will,” promised Vesemir. “Thank you for the warning, child. What else? You said three… pieces of advice.”
“Indeed. This is the second: Ciri must not be allowed to grow wild. She has to have contact with the world. With her peers. She has to be decently educated and prepared for a normal life. Let her wave her sword about for the time being. You won’t turn her into a witcher without mutation anyway, but having a witcher’s training won’t harm her. Times are hard and dangerous; she’ll be able to defend herself when necessary. Like an elf. But you must not bury her alive here, in the middle of nowhere. She has to enter normal life.”
“Her normal life went up in flames along with Cintra,” murmured Geralt, “but regarding this, Triss, as usual you’re right. We’ve already thought about it. In spring I’m going to take her to the Temple school. To Nenneke. To Ellander.”
“That’s a very good idea and a wise decision. Nenneke is an exceptional woman and Goddess Melitele’s sanctuary an exceptional place. Safe, sure, and it guarantees an appropriate education for the girl. Does Ciri know yet?”
“She does. She kicked up a fuss for a few days but finally accepted the idea. Now she is even looking forward to spring with
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