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Ola shook in her hiding spot. She’d been sure the creature was about to eat her, but then the huge man had flown across the cavern, swinging a sword taller than Ola at the beast.
“Run!” he roared at her, but she couldn’t. Fear had locked her in place, and she could no more flee than she could rise up into the air and fly. All she could do was hug her knees and shake, praying fervently under her breath.
The arachas had taken her by surprise. She had known that she shouldn’t have wandered so far, but she’d spotted some berries just a little further than she’d already been. Now she was stuck here in the beast’s lair, while a frankly giant Witcher hacked at it.
The thing charged at the Witcher, and she shrieked in alarm, scrambling further back into the crevice she’d jammed herself into. There were scrapes and scratches all down her ams, and her skirt had gotten torn along the bottom.
The Witcher dived out of the way of the onslaught, cursing loudly. It was the kind of language her mother would have frowned at, Ola thought, almost hysterically, as the creature turned toward her, lured by her screams.
As it advanced on her, Ola slammed her eyes shut. She wasn’t exactly sure why she thought it would help, but she couldn’t let herself watch any longer. Somehow, she felt that watching while she died would be worse.
The Witcher let out a furious roar, and something warm and wet splashed onto her face and shoulders.
She opened her eyes to the single most horrifying thing she’d ever seen. The arachas had torn open the Witcher’s chest. Blood was just about the only thing she could see. Blood and things she’d rather not name.
The Witcher tugged his sword free of the creature, and it slumped to the ground, dead, even as he swayed on his feet. Ola reached forward, crawling from her little nook, hoping to steady him somewhat, in spite of him being near double her size, and likely at least triple her weight. He hit his knees before she could touch him, and she heard a sob. It took a moment for her to realise that it had come from her.
“What…” She bit back another sob. “What can I do? How can I help?”
She’d been taught that Witchers were fearsome creatures, little better than the monsters they hunted. She’d been told they cared little for humans, and craved only their next hunt. Her mother had told her that she should fear to be alone with a Witcher.
It was difficult to understand why, when the man had deliberately put himself between her and a monster’s lethal attack. He’d taken the full brunt of it, when he could simply have used the distraction to kill the beast. And now he was bleeding out before her very eyes.
“Run home, girl,” he grit out, holding something inside of the horrific gash.
His yellow eyes were less terrifying now that he wasn’t towering over her, and she met his gaze easily. She could see in his eye that there was nothing to be done. He was dying, and she could not help him.
”Go home,” he said again, sinking further, his grip on his sword loosening. She heard it clatter to the ground.
“Can… Can I hold your hand?” she asked, kneeling beside him. She was still shaking. “I’m… I’m so scared. I don’t want to get up yet.”
The Witcher looked at her oddly, but nodded. His hand swung toward her, and she caught it. It was so much larger than her own, and she could feel the tacky, congealing blood that coated it, but it was warm, and comforting, and she could feel her trembling beginning to subside.
“My name is Ola,” she said, her voice near a whisper.
He nodded. “Your parents are worried for you,” he said, his voice low and rumbling. It was a pleasant voice; one she could imagine telling fantastic tales that would easily lull her to sleep. Her uncle had a voice almost as low, and she’d fallen asleep to his stories many times when she was younger.
“What is your name?” she asked, shuffling a little closer. He was swaying again, and she was terrified he’d simply fall down on his face dead right before her eyes.
“Jakub,” he said, quieter now. “You should go now, Ola. Your parents are worried, and you’ve a long way to travel.”
She shook her head, vehement in her denial. “I don’t want to leave you,” she said, tears slipping down her cheeks. “You… you saved me.”
Jakub slumped down into the dirt.
“I’m dying, girl,” he said flatly. “Best you not be here to watch it.”
Ola shook her head again. “Gramma said you should never let someone die alone,” she said. “I won’t.”
Jakub chuckled weakly. She would say that his wound was still bleeding, but she was avoiding looking at it. The longer she looked, the more she saw of things that were best not exposed to the air.
“You’re a stubborn one,” he said, grinning to himself as he closed his eyes. “I’ve a horse, a little ways outside the cavern. If you can get on her, she’s yours, along with everything on her. Just don’t touch the potions. If you can’t get on her, turn her loose.”
Ola nodded. It made sense, she thought, for him to make sure his horse would be looked after. And he’d have little use for his belongings now. It seemed that Witchers, or at least this one, were a practical sort.
Neither of them spoke again after that. Ola kept her hand in his until it fell limp, cooling in her grasp. Her tears hadn’t stopped, but she wiped them away furiously, smearing the blood on her face.
“Thank you, Jakub,” she whispered, choking back more tears. She had to be brave now. She had to find his horse, and then find her way back home.
As she stood to leave, a glint of silver caught her eye. His medallion, lying in the dirt where it had been ripped from him in that final, fatal moment.
Ola would never be able to say what, exactly, drove her to do it, but she picked it up, marvelling at the bear’s head emblem that hung from the chain.
It seemed… sad, to her, that Jakub would have no one but her to remember what he’d done; that no one he knew would find out what had happened to him.
She slipped the medallion into her pocket. She had a horse to find.
The horse was huge. Ola wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to get on her, but she wasn’t about to do Jakub the disservice of simply setting his horse loose to fend for herself.
She set to work removing the potions from the saddlebags, heeding Jakub’s advice. They were meant for Witchers, and she didn’t think it wise to bring them home with her. Instead, she carried them back into the cavern, placing them by Jakub’s cooling corpse, giving the dead arachas a wide berth.
She didn’t know if Witchers had different rites for their dead, but she prayed over him, knowing she would never be able to drag him from the cavern to bury him properly. In the absence of anything else she could do, she resolved to ask her father and uncle to return with her to do it later.
The mare was surprisingly well-mannered, holding still while Ola rifled through the saddlebags, and then remaining placid while she contemplated the best way to mount. After three failed attempts, she resorted to dragging a log over, scraping her hands even further, and adding mud to the blood that was drying on them. Her mother was going to throw a fit when she got home.
It wasn’t until she had mounted the horse that Ola realised that she hadn’t untethered it, and so she was forced to clamber back down to rectify her mistake.
Her second attempt at getting on the horse went much more smoothly, and as soon as she was in the saddle, the horse began to move, turning back in the direction of town.
It was nearing dawn when Ola finally caught sight of home. The cosy little house she shared with her parents and siblings had never looked so comforting, and she found herself bursting into noisy tears as she drew near.
The sound drew the inhabitants from the house, and seeing her parents only made her cry harder.
Her father rushed over and pulled her from the saddle, checking her for injuries. Ola imagined she looked quite a state, sobbing and covered in mud and blood and scrapes, with a torn skirt.
“What happened?”
“Are you alright?”
“Are you hurt?”
“Where’s that Witcher?”
It seemed that everyone was talking at once, and Ola could barely comprehend their words, exhaustion hitting her like a donkey kicking her in the chest. It left her winded, and she wanted nothing more than to sit in her father’s arms and cry for a while, and then sleep until the world began to make sense again.
“The Witcher,” she sobbed. “He… He…”
Her mother gasped, cupping Ola’s face in her hands.
“Did he touch you?” she demanded, frantic. “If he’s harmed you…” The threat trailed off when Ola shook her head.
“No!” she cried, still sobbing. “No! He’s dead! That thing killed him!”
She felt it when both of her parents let out a sigh of relief, relaxing at the news.
“It was going to eat me, but he stopped it,” she said, desperate for them to understand what he’d done for her. “He got killed ‘cause of me.”
Her father shook his head. “Better him than you,” he said, kissing the side of her head. “I’d rather see a hundred Witchers dead than lose you.”
Lying in bed that night, with those words echoing in her ears, Ola overheard her parents and uncle talking by the fire.
“A shame Ola had to go through that,” her uncle said, his low rumble reminding her so much of Jakub. “At least the freak’s dead though.”
Her father chuckled, and it sounded so far from his usual, jovial laugh that Ola thought she might be sick.
“It saves us the coin, for sure,” he said.
Ola felt tears slipping down her cheeks once more. She had thought she had cried all she could, but hearing the way they spoke of the man who had saved her life, and had held her hand to comfort her, even as his life slipped away… She would never have believed them to be so cruel, if she had not heard it with her own ears.
Hidden under her pillow, she gripped Jakub’s medallion tightly enough that she was sure it would leave indents in her skin.
That night, furious tears stinging at her eyes, Ola learned what it was to hate.
She named the horse Longstrider, and when her parents mentioned selling the mare, she screamed and threw a fit so terrible that her mother cried, and her father didn’t speak to her for the rest of the day, but she was allowed to keep Longstrider.
That was the first of many loud disagreements. Her parents argued when she began to wear trousers any time she had to travel beyond a half mile from their house, and begged her to reconsider when she took lessons with an old soldier who lived nearby, the Witcher’s dagger hung on her belt like a sword. She refused to be helpless again.
So, she collected stories of Witchers, and the White Wolf’s army, and she kept Jakub’s medallion hidden away. She learned to ride, and to defend herself, and to argue with her parents. They could not understand the change in her, and she watched them grow tired of her behaviour.
Ola may have learned to hate when she was twelve, but she practiced hatred daily. She thought she had mastered the craft by the time she married at the age of eighteen.
She was not in love with Henryk, which may have been part of the problem. He took her indifference toward him as evidence that she was seeing others, and began to grow moody and jealous. After their son was born, he only grew worse, and she often caught him studying the boy, as though looking for another man’s features in their son’s face.
He was hesitant to raise a hand to her, though, and she took it as proof that he had it in him to make smart decisions. The first time he had hit her, she had blackened his eye, and so he wisely tended to keep his hands to himself.
The day that all changed, a Witcher passed through town.
Ola had been speaking with the tanner when the street had begun to grow quiet. It was easy to pinpoint the cause, given that Witchers were a distinctive lot. This one had golden blonde hair that hung down around his ears, apparently in need of a cut.
He was looking to restock his travel supplies, Ola learned, as he was cheated out of his coin while buying feed for his horse.
Her little Kubuś was fascinated by the Witcher, watching him with wide eyes. The Witcher must have felt Kuba’s eyes on him, because he turned, suspicious, only to tilt his head to the side in obvious confusion.
Ola gave him a small smile, even as Kuba grinned and waved, shouting a hello down the street.
When Henryk arrived home that night, it was clear that he had heard about the tiny interaction. He flew into a rage the moment he saw Kuba, who began babbling excitedly about the Witcher, thrilled to share his excitement with his father.
Ola had already begun to cross the room, intending to sweep Kuba up and distract him with something else, when the sound of a hand meeting skin cracked through the air.
She had her Kubuś in her arms in the space of a heartbeat, clutching him to her as she stared down her husband. He began screaming obscenities and accusations at her, his face turning red with anger.
Ola slowly set Kuba on the ground as his sniffles were cut off with a sharp gasp.
“My little Kubuś,” she started, petting his soft hair, eyes never leaving Henryk’s, “I want you to take an apple out to Longstrider. I will come fetch you when your father and I are done here.”
Kuba loved Longstrider. He would try to sneak her apples, or hide in her stall, and begged Ola to let him ride her. Most importantly, he would be safe out there, while Ola dealt with this problem she’d allowed to continue for far too long.
Kacper hadn’t expected to be so surprised by people’s attitudes when he left Kaer Morhen, but the slow shift as he travelled further from the White Wolf’s lands had been a startling revelation of how complacent he had become.
He’d only travelled so far so that he could be there for the grand opening of an old friend’s new bakery. All of his recent hunts had been much closer to Kaer Morhen. Reaching his friend’s home had been a relief.
Now, returning to the White Wolf’s lands, he was finding himself homesick, and for a place he had never thought he would care much for.
The town he was passing through was hostile and untrusting, and he ended up parting with far more money than was fair for the amount of feed he had purchased.
He felt eyes on him, and tensed. People had been watching him since the moment he’d set foot in town, and yet the paranoia had not faded.
Kacper turned, and found a small child staring at him from further along the street. He was cute, with chubby cheeks and soft curls, and when he noticed Kacper had spotted him, he grinned widely and waved. His mother, holding his hand, smiled down at him, then turned the very same smile on Kacper.
“Hello!” the boy cried cheerily. He had dimples, Kacper noticed, and he was going to have to stop taking part in the teasing of Letho, if this was what it felt like to have a small child smile so fantastically at him.
Kacper raised a hand to wave hesitantly, more a salute than anything, then hurried on his way, somewhat puzzled by the whole encounter.
He set up camp a little ways outside of town, then set out to catch something for dinner.
It was dark, and he’d finished eating, when he heard a horse approaching from the direction of town. Kacper stood, picking up his steel sword as he listened intently for clues as to who might be out on the road at such an hour.
Disregarding the horse, there was one set of footsteps, but two heartbeats. The steps were confident and unhurried. He could smell blood in the air.
He stepped out to the side of the road once the steps had drawn near enough, and spotted the horse and its owner. The horse was a tall one, and strong, with full saddlebags. The woman leading it was taller than average, and wearing trousers, her hair tied back in a tight braid. She was carrying a sleeping child on her hip, held closely to combat the chill in the night air.
With a jolt, Kacper recognised them as the boy and his mother from the town. They seemed unharmed, and the woman did not seem surprised to see him.
“Master Witcher,” she said in greeting when she reached him, the horse obediently stopping by her side.
Upon closer inspection, the horse was surprisingly well-bred. He hadn’t thought it a work horse, but seeing it so close, he might almost have mistaken it for a Witcher horse.
“Is there something I might help you with?” Kacper asked, his mind twisting into knots as he tried to understand the situation. It was obvious now that the smell of blood was coming from her, though it was a few hours old now.
“You are one of the White Wolf’s Witchers, yes?” the woman asked, wrapping her child a little more firmly in her arms. He could smell no fear or anger from her, and could not decipher her reasoning for seeking him out.
“I am,” he said.
She nodded. “I request safe passage to Kaer Morhen,” she said, meeting his eye without flinching. Her heartbeat was steady, and her gaze never wavered. “We will not slow you overmuch, and I can pay you. It is dangerous for us to travel alone, but I assure you that we will not be in your way if you allow us to travel with you.”
Kacper gestured her toward his little camp almost before she could finish speaking. He would not have anyone attempting such a journey alone, especially not with a small child.
“I must say, I was planning a leisurely journey back to Kaer Morhen,” he told her, only lying a little. He justified it by telling himself that there was no one around capable of telling that he was lying. “I don’t think you will slow me at all. However, may I ask why you wish to travel so far, and with only the boy for company?”
She met his eye again as she sat by the fire, her son cradled in her arms. There was something almost unnerving about her. Were it not for her perfectly natural brown eyes, he might have thought her a Witcher. A Wolf, or perhaps an aloof Bear. Of course, neither school had ever trained a girl, but her demeanour fit well.
“I have not spoken with my family in some time,” she said. “I would certainly not ask them to come with me. As for my husband, he is tragically dead.”
It was said in such a blank, unmoved tone, that Kacper found himself speaking without thinking.
“How long has he been gone?” he asked.
He wanted to go find a river to drown himself in. He knew that he had less tact than most of his brothers, and tended to say whatever came to mind, but this was truly a new low. Asking a, presumably, recently widowed woman to recount her woes, practically interrogating her when she’d barely arrived.
She squinted up at the sky, then glanced back toward town. Kacper noted that nervousness had soured her scent a little.
“Perhaps four hours past?” she said, brushing her son’s hair back as she spoke.
In the flickering of the flame, Kacper could see his reddened cheek, and could tell that his eye was beginning to bruise. Her flat tone and the smell of blood swirled together with the evidence before him, and he understood.
“I am sure you would like to get some sleep,” he said with an apologetic smile. “Forgive me for prattling on; I’ve had little company these past weeks. I tend to rise early. Does that suit, or shall I plan for a later start to our journey?”
She shook her head. “An early start suits me fine,” she said.
“Well then, it shall be a pleasure to ride with you,” he said, giving her a ridiculous bow. “My name is Kacper, of the School of the Griffin.”
“Ola,” she said, with a small smile. “And this is my little Kubuś,” she added, dropping a kiss on the boy’s head as he slumbered on.
Kacper fetched her bedroll from the horse and set it out for her, letting her stay by the fire and hold her child a little longer. They had both had a rather eventful night, it seemed, and he was loath to move them. Besides which, it seemed cruel for him to suggest she put the boy down when he looked so peaceful.
He elected to spend the night meditating, uneasy with the idea of someone from town discovering what Ola had done. She seemed to be a young woman of excellent character, and he could hardly fault her for defending her son.
Kacper found that Ola kept her word about being unobtrusive over the next few days. She kept mostly to herself, talking quietly to Kuba as they rode. Kuba, on the other hand, babbled endlessly. Kacper could only understand every fifth word the boy said, but it was clear that he was excitedly narrating everything he could see to his mother, pausing occasionally to pat their horse’s neck.
It fell to Kacper to initiate any conversation with Ola, and he found her as reticent as any Bear, at least with him. He didn’t take it personally, given that he had yet to smell fear on her. What little information he could gather was that she was a cobbler, and had been married near three years.
“What’s that?” Kuba asked, pointing to a bird flying overhead. He did that any time he saw something new.
Kacper squinted up at the bird. “Honey buzzard,” he said, watching it soar over a field.
Both mother and son stared at him in shock.
“Honey buzzed!” Kuba cried happily, pointing again. Kacper had noticed his habit of repeating the new words and phrases he learned. It was, frankly, fascinating to watch him soaking up information every day.
“Yes, a honey buzzard,” Kacper said, smiling at the boy’s happiness. “They like to eat wasps.”
Kuba seemed utterly thrilled with this news, wiggling atop the long-suffering mare.
“You could see it that well?” Ola asked, smiling indulgently down at her excited son.
Kacper nodded. “Witchers can see much further than most people expect,” he said. “All of our senses are heightened. We were created to hunt monsters, and so they made us better hunters.”
Ola nodded slowly, digesting the information. “Towns and cities must be incredibly overwhelming, if you are always sifting through so much information. So many sounds, and smells.”
Kacper was truly astounded that she would think of such a thing. Most humans, upon learning what Witchers were truly capable of, would first consider how their enhancements would affect them in battle.
“It can be, at times,” he confessed, giving her a wry smile. “We tend to train ourselves out of letting it affect us too terribly.”
The one small interaction seemed to open the floodgates. Ola spoke more frequently, discussing their travel plans, and the strange things that Kacper had seen and fought.
Kuba had taken to directing at least half of his questions at Kacper, fascinated by everything that the Witcher could tell him about the world, and the animals that they saw. He’d had Kacper talking for near ten minutes about deer alone.
Kacper delighted in teaching Kuba, and watching him quickly grasp new concepts. Children were fascinating. Kacper understood, from what he had gleaned while watching the trainees, that children were shaped by the way adults around them acted.
He truly hoped that Ola and Kuba would stay in Kaer Morhen. It was a somewhat startling thought to have, but it was true. He wanted to see Kuba grow and learn and discover what kind of person he would be. He wanted to keep teaching him. The boy had carved out a space in Kacper’s heart over the course of their journey, and Kacper understood Letho so much better now than he had before.
He was still surprised the first time Kuba clambered into his lap when they made camp for the night. There was no motivation to the gesture beyond trust and affection. Kacper had to clear his throat before he could speak.
“May I ask why you chose to travel to Kaer Morhen?” he asked, brushing a hand carefully over Kuba’s curls the way he’d seen Ola do a thousand times since they had begun their journey.
Ola stilled. “I have listened to stories about the White Wolf and his army,” she said. “Stories that come from his lands, and not from his enemies. People seem happy there; safe. I want that for my son.”
Kacper could sense that she was keeping something back, but she had not lied to him, and he had no right to demand information of her.
“Kaer Morhen is becoming quite the refuge these days,” he said instead, stilling when he noticed Kuba beginning to drift off, settling against his chest. He couldn’t help the smile that pulled at his lips; the boy was so sweet and trusting that it was near impossible to do anything but smile around him.
“You’re good with him,” Ola noted, gesturing to the way Kacper’s arms had moved seemingly of their own accord to cradle Kuba closer. “He likes that you’ll talk with him, tell him things. It’s nice of you to indulge his curiosity.”
Kacper shrugged, embarrassed. “He has a bright mind,” he said. “Such a thing should be fed. And it is hardly a difficult task, to explain more about the new things he is seeing.”
“Perhaps,” Ola allowed, giving him an indecipherable smile. “All the same, thank you.”
Passing through the gates, Ola could see Witchers everywhere. Many were eyeing their arrival with interest, and the scrutiny had caused Kuba to grow quiet, shrinking into Ola’s hold to try to hide a little.
Kacper had assured them that, while they would likely be arriving right around the time everyone would be finishing training, the Witchers would not bother them. In truth, Ola wasn’t particularly worried about them.
She handed Kuba down to Kacper once he’d dismounted, so that she could do the same. She bit her lip to keep from grinning at the look on his face. Every time he held Kuba, Kacper’s face did a complicated little dance, shifting from shock, to happiness, to contemplation, before ending on quiet contentment. Ola loved to watch it play out, and this time was no different.
As she dismounted, she glanced around, making the most of the height Longstrider afforded her before she lost it. Witchers all around the courtyard, with varying builds, and colouring, and in various states of undress. Some were still in full armour, others were in their shirtsleeves, and some had discarded their shirts altogether. It was an admittedly attractive scene, but not her largest concern at the moment.
Amongst the many Witchers, she could see medallions representing all of the Witcher schools, but she was only looking for one.
She dismounted, having spotted what she was looking for, and turned to Kacper, her expression set.
“There is something I must do,” she said, then strode away from him, toward the older Witcher she’d caught sight of.
Kacper scrambled to follow, bringing the horses with him, Kuba settled against his hip. It was amusing, to see how quickly he’d adapted to having a child around.
The older Witcher seemed startled by their approach, and more so when Ola strode directly up to him.
“You are a Witcher of the Bear School, yes?” she asked, gesturing to his medallion.
“Aye,” the Witcher said, eyeing her with suspicion.
Kacper cut in. “This is Artek, head of the School of the Bear,” he said. “Artek, this is Ola, and her son Kuba.” He flushed, apparently only just realising that he was carrying Kuba.
“I am in your debt, then, Artek of the School of the Bear,” Ola said, taking her boy back and cradling him close. She tried to ignore the disappointed look on Kacper’s face, and the way Kuba whined quietly at the change.
“Not sure I understand,” Artek rumbled. He glanced between her, and Kuba, and Longstrider.
She reached into her pocket, and drew out her longest kept secret. The silver of the medallion, hidden all these years, glinted in the sunlight.
“A Bear Witcher named Jakub was killed by an arachas whilst saving my life, nine years ago now,” she said, hearing Kacper’s quiet intake of breath as he made the connection between the Witcher and Kuba’s name. “No payment was ever given for the contract, though I gained a great deal. My horse, even, was his.”
Artek nodded slowly. “I remember Jakub,” he said. “That’s his Shadow alright.”
Ola startled. She… Well, she’d never really thought she would ever learn the name Jakub had given his mare. She’d thought about it a lot over the years, but she had never considered the possibility of actually discovering the horse’s name.
Artek gave her a speculative look, then gestured for her to follow him. Kacper handed the horses off to another Witcher, and followed too. Ola was glad for it, knowing that she would appreciate his quiet support when she began to explain.
They were led to a small office, and Artek waved for them to sit. Kuba curled up in Ola’s arms, and she dropped a kiss on his brow, soothing him and herself with the gesture.
“Tell me everything,” Artek said, and she did.
For the first time, Ola recounted the whole, terrible story. She told him about Jakub’s death, and the way he’d held her hand when she was too terrified to get up and leave, despite his own pain. She explained her anger at the way her parents spoke, and the way that anger grew every time she heard someone speak ill of Witchers. She told him of Henryk, and how she had married him because he was attractive, and proposed, and represented an acceptable way to escape her parents’ home. Finally, she told them what happened the night she had met Kacper.
As she spoke, she felt tears slip down her cheeks. Kuba gave a distressed whine, and pressed his face into Ola’s chest, but said nothing.
Kacper reached out and stroked Kuba’s hair, giving Ola an approving nod.
Artek hummed. “Good the bastard’s dead,” he said, when she had finished speaking about Henryk. “As for Jakub… You owe us nothing. Witchers die. If he died saving a life, good; means his death was worth something.”
Kacper had brought them to a set of rooms that had been arranged for them, staying to show Kuba the view of the mountains from the window while Ola arranged their belongings to her satisfaction. She finished in time to see Kuba beginning to drift off in Kacper’s arms, exhausted by the ride up the Trail.
Kacper set Kuba down on the bed, shushing him when he began to rouse a little. It was endearing to watch him be so gentle.
“I’ll take my leave,” Kacper said, smiling softly down at Kuba. “Please, join me at the Griffin’s table for dinner tonight.”
Ola nodded, thanking him quietly as he stepped out. The door closed behind him, and Ola was left alone with her thoughts.
She hadn’t let herself think too much since that very first night, and the weight of it all hit her rather suddenly. They had made it. They were safe. She’d gotten her little Kubuś away from Henryk, and they were in what had to be the safest place on the Continent. Anything that wished them harm would have to fight through half a hundred Witchers and more.
She drew in a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Witchers had saved her twice now, and she could not overlook the relief she felt at finally having told someone her tale. Jakub’s tale. She’d finally been able to share what he’d done with people who would understand and appreciate it.
A sob caught in her throat, and she pressed her hand to her mouth to desperately stifle the sound. Tears spilled down her cheeks. She felt overwhelmed, and elated, and the heartbreak of knowing it had taken near a decade to find people to listen to Jakub’s story welled up inside her, and she finally let herself break, crying quietly in sadness and joy.