The two left the tavern and began talking in the alley behind it.
Geralt crossed his arms and looked into the woman's eyes. Calmly, he said, "I know why you came here, Renfri. Stregobor is dead."
Renfri raised her brows in surprise and covered her mouth theatrically. "Oh! Thank you, thank you! Brave Witcher! You saved me—You don't actually think I'd believe that, do you, White-haired man?"
She laughed brazenly, but the Witcher's still-calm expression gradually made her realize something. Renfri's smile abruptly vanished. Her beautiful face showed neither sorrow nor joy as she merely asked, "He's really dead?"
"I saw it with my own eyes."
"Take me to see him. As long as I see that he's dead with my own eyes—then this is over." Her voice was resolute.
Geralt motioned for her to follow. Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the granite tower beneath the night sky. Renfri cautiously gestured for the Witcher to open the door first. Geralt knew her six companions had been following at a distance, though he had no idea how the woman communicated with them.
But he did not care. Stregobor really was dead.
The Witcher pushed open the door. The tower was a complete mess. Stregobor's cold corpse lay on the floor amid pots and pans, his wide-open eyes staring at the top of the tower. Geralt still remembered that bolt of lightning, though he did not know why it had not turned Stregobor into charred remains. He Shenyan had explained that it was Soul Lightning. Geralt had never been good at understanding Mages' spells, but he was rather glad it had been Soul Lightning. Otherwise, a corpse burned to a crisp would not have satisfied this woman.
Renfri stared at the corpse.
She began trembling where she stood, hot tears streaming from her eyes. Drawing the dagger at her waist, she strode forward, intending to do something to Stregobor's body. The Witcher stretched out an arm to stop her. The woman continued cursing Stregobor, using language so vicious that even the Witcher could not help glancing at her. She cursed as she wept, her voice already hoarse. She even tried to throw the dagger in her hand and punch a hole through Stregobor's corpse.
The dagger clattered against the floor.
A few minutes later, she slowly calmed down. Geralt released her and stepped aside. Renfri sank to her knees, staring blankly ahead as she said to the Witcher, "Do you want to hear a story, White-haired man?"
Geralt crossed his arms and gave a hum.
"You know, despite how I look now, I was once a princess. I had everything: servants who bowed to my every command, splendid clothes and shoes. Jewelry, gems, ponies, goldfish in ponds, and dozens of towers like this one. They all belonged to me."
"Until that son of a bitch came along. Then that filthy Aridea ordered a hunter to kill me in the forest and bring back my heart and liver. Wonderful, wasn't it?"
"But you didn't die."
"Yes, yes! Because that hunter raped me!"
Geralt lowered his head and fiddled with his wolf-head pendant.
"While he was doing it, I blinded him with a brooch. Then I started running."
"That was how a princess ended up: with her dress in tatters, filthy beyond belief. Then came grime, hunger, stench, and abuse. To survive, I sold myself to those old vagrants, all for a bowl of soup or a place to sleep." She continued without the slightest tremor in her voice, as though she were telling someone else's story. Geralt thought that perhaps, to her, it really was a past life.
She touched her hair, tore out a bloody handful, and held it before the Witcher's eyes for him to see. "You know, White-haired man. My hair used to be like silk, and it was very, very long. But I could not even bathe. I got lice, and I was forced to cut it all off at the roots with an old, worn pair of sheep shears. It used to be my pride, but now my hair will never grow back evenly."
She fell silent for a moment, futilely brushing aside the fringe over her forehead. "I stole so I would not starve to death. I killed so I would not be killed. I was locked in cells reeking of piss, not knowing whether they would hang me the next morning or release me after a whipping. Yet even then, my stepmother and that old bastard Stregobor still hunted me relentlessly, with poison, assassins, and magic."
"Aridea and Stregobor tried to poison you?"
"With an apple coated in Nightshade. A dwarf saved me with an emetic that made you vomit out all your insides. I survived."
"One of the seven dwarves?"
Renfri froze, then suddenly began to laugh.
"Oh," she said, "you know quite a lot about me. Do you have some way of dealing with dwarves? They treated me better than most humans did. Stregobor and Aridea kept hunting me like an animal, until the day I became the hunter. Aridea died in her own bed. She was lucky—I never got close enough to her. I had prepared something especially nice for her. What a pity."
Geralt said nothing. After a while, he asked, "Do you know why Stregobor and the duke's wife wanted to kill you?"
Renfri suddenly straightened up and shrieked, "Isn't it obvious?! I was the heir. Aridea's children were all bastards; they had no claim at all. That old whore only wanted her own children to take the throne!"
"No." The Witcher's voice remained calm.
Renfri lowered her head, but only for an instant. A sharp light flashed in her eyes. "Fine. They thought I was cursed, tainted in my mother's womb. They thought I was..."
"What?"
"A monster."
"Are you?"
For that instant, she looked helpless, shocked, and utterly grief-stricken.
"I don't know, Geralt," she whispered. Then her expression hardened again. "Damn it, how could I possibly know? My fingers bleed when they're cut. I bleed every month. My stomach swells when I eat too much, and I get hangovers when I'm drunk. I sing when I'm happy, curse when I'm sad, and kill people when I hate them, and I—Enough!"
She collapsed onto the ground as though all her strength had left her. Her tone turned numb. "Give him to me, and then I'll leave."
"Stregobor once wanted me to kill you." The Witcher changed the subject.
"Did you agree?"
"I'm not an executioner, Renfri. I kill Monsters, but not a poor girl."
Renfri burst into laughter. Her laughter echoed through the cold tower and over Stregobor's corpse. "You—a mutated freak—think I'm pitiful?!"
She stood and slammed the Witcher against the stone wall, shouting into his face, "I don't need your pity! Do you understand?! I only want his corpse! Give him to me!"
Even now, Geralt did not lose his composure. He merely pushed the girl away gently. "He's already dead, Renfri. Look at his body. He's dead."
Renfri spoke softly, nearly in a whisper. "Yes, but I didn't kill him myself."
She raised her head. Her makeup had run, and tears still streaked her face. Her mouth was smiling, but her eyes were crying. "It makes no difference, does it? He's dead anyway, and my life can never go back to what it was."
Geralt shook his head and turned to leave, but Renfri called after him. She pulled open her clothes, exposing herself, tears still hanging on her face. Her lips smiled, but her eyes wept. "Come on, Witcher. Don't you want to spend a night with me? Anything is possible—gold, me, even someone else's life. Just give me his corpse."
"I only want this. Anything is fine, please." She begged.
Geralt sighed. He walked over, pulled Renfri's clothes closed, and embraced her. Softly, he said, "He's already dead, Renfri."
The girl finally broke down and wept.
The next day, when they left Blaviken, Stregobor's body had already been buried. It had not been damaged. After all the evil he had done, having an intact corpse was practically a miracle.
After that night, Renfri vanished with her people. Geralt did not know where she was going, nor did he intend to ask. The Witcher merely sincerely wished her a smooth journey.
He and his new companion rode through the country lanes. Geralt still rode Roach—every one of his horses was called Roach, even this tired, skinny old mare. He Shenyan's horse, however, looked rather different. Its black coat was sleek, and it was tall, strong, and strikingly handsome.
Geralt glanced at it without changing expression and commented, "That's a fine horse."
Pretending not to understand what he was thinking, He Shenyan smiled faintly and agreed. "Yes."
Before you continue